


I Can't Say It, But I'll Show It

by MintSauce



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ian's in hospital, M/M, first fic I wrote, this is just an upload from ff.net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 83,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey can't say how he feels for Ian, he just can't, but when Ian gets hurt, he realises that maybe it wouldn't kill him to just show it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first fic I ever wrote. I can't promise I'll get all the chapters up in one go, so if you don't like to wait, you can find them on ff.net under the same name. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.

It was two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks before he found out. Although in hindsight, he probably supposed it was good that it took that long, because it meant he got to dish out his own personal brand of justice in the form of revenge.

Mickey was pissed off from the moment he woke up that day. He was pissed because he hadn't heard from or seen Gallagher in two whole fucking weeks. And he was even more pissed because that actually bothered him. It shouldn't bother him whether or not he saw Gallagher, but somehow it did. For the first week – well maybe just the first few days, but whatever, screw the technicalities – he managed to convince himself that all he was missing was the convenience of a fuck buddy. But then he started to drive himself mad and he realised it wasn't just that. He hated that he realised it wasn't just that.

He couldn't stop wondering what he'd done, what he'd said this time that made the stupid little redhead start avoiding him. He'd lie there in bed, either drunk or high most of the time, glaring at his ceiling like it was its fault and desperately try to think back to what he'd said to Gallagher and more importantly, what his reactions had been.

He wasn't quite desperate enough to go around to the Gallaghers, not yet. He found himself walking that way sometimes, but he didn't even know what he would say when he got to the door, so he just turned around and walked away again.

And that was how he came to find out the way he did, because he was getting so fucking antsy waiting for Ian to turn up that he needed something to calm himself down. He'd known the O'Connor brothers most of his life. They were as thick as shit, but they grew good weed so he made sure to stay on their good side. He got it cheaper that way.

He did think Carl seemed a little bit on edge when he let Mickey into the house, but Mickey just put it down to him being high or something. He didn't think anything about it. The house was a mess, kind of like Mickey's own, but in here the smell of weed and cigarettes was a lot stronger. It was almost enough to choke you.

His eyes fell on the baseball bat lying in the middle of the room, its wood caked with long since dried blood. Mickey wasn't bothered about it, because he knew that the O'Connor brothers were renowned for getting themselves into shit. They were drug dealers, it sort of came with the territory. He asked just because he knew it was expected of him and he needed to make some sort of conversation.

"What they fuck you been up to now?" he asked, motioning to the bat that if either of the brothers had had half a brain, they would have scrubbed clean and got rid of by now. If they'd had half a brain, Carl also wouldn't have told Mickey what he'd done. It was probably because the guy knew that as a Milkovich, Mickey had just as many skeletons in his closet, but the difference was, Mickey didn't go around bragging about his skeletons. He wasn't stupid.

"Oh Jase and I had a little fun with that Gallagher kid the other week," Carl said shrugging and looking at Mickey like he thought Mickey would find this news amusing. Which he didn't, at all. In fact, Mickey was pretty sure he could feel something dying inside of him because he knew without even having to ask which Gallagher they meant. "And then when we figured that hadn't taught him enough of a lesson, we roughed him up a bit."

Mickey thought he was going to be sick. He couldn't look anywhere else other than the blood stained bat or Carl's grin. "What you mean you had some fun with him?" he asked, but he already knew. It was written all over Carl's face.

Carl actually looked pleased, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip, "He probably counted himself lucky anybody wanted to fuck him at all, the stupid fag." And that wasn't even something Mickey thought he could reply to, so he just did the only thing he definitely knew how to do.

He punched Carl straight in the face, feeling his nose crunch and break under his fist. And as the other boy fell to the floor, he kept punching him, again and again, a red haze dropping down over his eyes as the anger boiled over inside of him. He was vaguely away that he was crying at the same time, but he didn't have time to think about how Milkovich's weren't supposed to cry, how they didn't cry. Besides, they weren't sad tears, they were angry tears.

He could taste the salt on his tongue as it seeped in between his lips and then he was climbing off of Carl's unconscious form to face the guy's brother. Jason was staring at Mickey with wide eyes. "Dude, what the hell?" he asked, which was sort of stupid. If Mickey had been in his shoes, he wouldn't have stopped to ask questions, he just would have started throwing punches.

"You really shouldn't have hurt Ian," Mickey said, his voice sounding dangerous but oddly dead even to his own ears.

Jason looked incredulous, his wide eyes going to where his brother lay on the floor. And yet, he was  _still_  asking questions.  _What an idiot_ , Mickey thought. "Why the fuck would Gallagher matter to you?" the other boy asked, his eyes flickering around for some sort of weapon.

Mickey could feel his lips twist into a horrible sort of grimace and he didn't even care how his next words sounded. At that moment, he was too angry to give a shit about anything, about giving away his secret, that didn't matter. All he wanted to do was inflict pain on the guy standing in front of him. "Because he's  _mine_ ," he practically snarled as his fingers closed around the handle of the bat still stained with Ian's blood and swung it as hard as he could at Jason's leg.

The other guy screamed and hit the ground, but really, Mickey knew he should have counted himself lucky. If there hadn't been that small rational part of his brain that told him he couldn't see Ian if he was in Juvie again, he would have swung that bat at Jason's head and the wall would have been splattered with his brains rather than the boy just having a broken leg.

Mickey dropped the bat, punching the guy for good measure, just as an outlet for the pain building inside of his chest. All he could think was that they'd hurt Ian. That they'd hurt Ian not only physically, but in the worst way.  _His_ Ian. They'd hurt  _his_  Gallagher. And even though Mickey would and had denied all feelings and all connections to the younger redhead, he knew that that was not okay with him. It was not okay and it would never be okay that they had hurt his Ian.

Just a few minutes after he'd swung the bat, he was on the phone. He couldn't actually remember why he had that cop Tony's number, but he was glad he did. Normally, Mickey wouldn't have bothered with phoning the police, he would have just left the O'Connor boys there to hopefully bleed out and die, but he knew that he had to do this for Ian. He'd had his own form of retribution, his own brand of justice and even though he had done that for Ian, it had been for him too, it had been to satisfy his anger. But now, now he had to let everybody else have their justice.

So for the first time, Mickey willingly went to the police. Because really, there wasn't much else a loser like Mickey Milkovich could do for Ian. He could beat the guys up and he could turn them into the police, but that was all he could do. He'd always failed at everything in life, even when things came to Ian, he always fucked that up, but he could definitely do this.

"Hello?"

Tony picked up after only two rings.

"This Tony?" Mickey asked, his voice cracked from stress and anger, "It's Mickey Milkovich."

The surprise in Tony's voice was obvious, but maybe it was the pain in Mickey's that stopped him from instantly saying fuck off. "Milkovich, what can I do you for?" he asked, sounding dubious. Mickey knew there was a bit of a double meaning behind that question, he was assuming Mickey was in the wrong. And he couldn't really blame the guy for thinking that, even though he wanted to.

"Um. . ." now that he'd actually made the call, Mickey didn't know what to say. Because it occurred to him that he would probably go to Juvie just for beating the guys here up. He screwed his eyes shut tight and thought of Ian, of that stupid shit eating grin and that flaming red hair. He could do this, he had to do this. His one moment of unselfish glory. "I went to visit the O'Connor brothers and they started telling me about what they did to Ian Gallagher," he explained, his voice even more dead-sounding than before, "I kinda lost it, but there's a bat here covered in Ian's blood" – and a bit of Jason's now probably – "They're both unconscious though so they ain't going anywhere."

He knew he'd landed himself in it now. He knew there was probably no way he was going to get to see Ian, but maybe it would filter through to him somehow that Mickey had done this for him.  _Damn, this would be the third time he'd gone to Juvie for that kid_.  _It was definitely becoming a habit!_  But he'd done it, a Milkovich had finally done the right thing.

"Where are you?" Tony said, his voice completely serious, sort of grave as well and Mickey knew the other guy believed him. He probably didn't understand why Mickey had lost it and beat the crap out of the brothers, but Mickey didn't give a shit. He didn't care what the guy speculated, not anymore.

Mickey rattled off his whereabouts.

"Okay, I'm on my way," Tony replied and Mickey thought he'd hung up when the man spoke again, "You get out of there Milkovich, just make sure the bastards aren't going anywhere and leave."

"Jason ain't going nowhere, I shattered his kneecap," Mickey said before it really registered what Tony had just said, "Hold on, why the fuck d'ya want me to leave, won't you want to interview me or arrest me or some shit?"

He could hear the other man sigh softly, could hear him moving. "I don't really want to arrest you for the one good thing you actually might have done," he replied after a minute, "So just get out of there, I doubt anybody can connect you to it if you're not actually there."

Mickey could feel his lips tugging up into a smile, but he knew it probably wasn't a very nice one, even if he was happy. "Thanks mate," he muttered, not really good at expressing his thanks. He looked down at the two unconscious O'Connors, "How far away are you?"

"Couple of minutes."

"Okay," Mickey replied. He knew that neither of them were probably even going to be awake and neither of them could get very far in two minutes, so he just turned his back on them. Mickey hung up the phone and walked out of the building, not looking back. Because he knew, if he looked back, he would probably go right back in there and kill the fuckers.

God, he really wanted to kill them!

Now that he had done his good deed, all the anger was coming back. He felt like he needed to get drunk or high, he needed to find something or someone to punish. But he could do that later. First, he needed to check up on his Gallagher.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, any typos are about three years old and I apologise for them!

"Mickey?"

It was Lip that noticed him first and it didn't take long before his eyes were drawn to the blood on Mickey's knuckles, on his clothes. It was actually pretty hard to miss, but still, Mickey hated the assumptions that Lip was obviously jumping to. He also probably though Mickey was drunk, Mickey sort of wished that he was if he was being honest.

Lip opened his mouth to say something, but then Fiona was in his face, her hands on his chest pushing him away from the doorways to the room. He still couldn't see anything of his red-headed Gallagher, the rest of them were in the fucking way. He wanted to scream at them to move, but figured that would probably be counter-productive.

"Mickey, I don't know why you're here, but you need to leave," Fiona said, pushing on his chest again and then removing her hands because she obviously noticed the blood there, "This really isn't a good time."

He nodded when really all he wanted to do was scream and force his way past her. "I get that," he replied, trying not to make his tone sound completely cold or cruel or anything it usually sounded, "But I'm not going anywhere till I get to see, Gallagher."

"You're looking at Gallaghers right now," she said a little bluntly, a little harshly, but he could tell she was confused. He didn't particularly care though, didn't appreciate her sarcasm, not when the need to see Ian was practically choking the air out of his lungs.

It felt like something inside of him was burning.

"Yeah, but not the one I want," he retorted, his anger starting to bubble up into his voice again.

Then Lip was there, diffusing the situation before Fiona could blow up in his face like she obviously wanted to. Like him, she probably just needed to vent at someone like Mickey did, because he could tell from the bags under her eyes that she was practically running off of her pain and anger right now. Just like him. But he still didn't care, he would hurt her if she stopped him from getting into that room. All he wanted to do was see him!

"Fi, just let him in," Lip said softly so that nobody other than the three of them could hear his words, "It's not like he's going to say anything." And Mickey was about to yell at him, about to point out that he could say anything he fucking wanted to when the other boy looked at him. Lip looked like he'd aged several years in the two weeks Ian had been in the hospital. He probably hadn't slept since then. And it was when Lip looked at him that Mickey realised he hadn't actually being talking about him.

"He hasn't said a word since he's woken up," Lip explained in a low, sad voice, "And he screams if people get too near him sometimes, so don't be offended or anything if he doesn't do anything other than stare or scream."

And then they were all stepping out of the way and with Lip's words ringing through his head, Mickey realised he really wished he'd killed the O'Connor brothers when he'd had the chance. Ian looked smaller, but that was probably because of the bandages and the pieces of machinery hooked up to him, all the metal. He had a cast on each leg, some weird contraption holding them still and slightly upright. One of his arms was in another case, the other was bandaged and hooked up to an IV. He had bandages around his chest, which Mickey could clearly see because the thin sheet only came up to cover his lower half. He had stitches in his eyebrow and another set on his forehead. His lip had obviously been split, but that was mostly healed up. His face was black and blue, bruises littering one side of it completely. The other half was oddly untouched.

He looked terrible. It made Mickey feel sick all over again.

And when their eyes met as Mickey came to stand at the foot of the bed, Ian's gaze was blank and empty. Mickey wondered if he was even registering anything that was going on around him, or if he had locked himself away deep inside of his own mind. He probably felt safer there.

"Hey," Mickey said lamely, touching Ian's toes where they stuck out the end of his cast. They were pretty much the only part of Ian that Mickey thought probably didn't hurt.

Ian didn't react in the slightest, but Mickey did think that maybe his gaze became slightly less blank. He didn't say anything though, just blinked a few times, not looking away from Mickey. And he supposed that had to be something in the least.

"You look like shit, Gallagher," he heard himself saying, just because he had to say something and all he really knew how to do was insult people. He didn't know how to be comforting. Didn't even know if anybody could say anything comforting in a situation like this. "Like you got hit by a truck or something."

And he could have sworn the corner of Ian's mouth twitched, like he was going to smile. In a way, it made sense, because that was probably the most honest thing anybody had said to him in two weeks. But then Fiona was ruining it, grabbing at his shirt, pushing him away again, yelling at him.

"Oh yeah, that's productive!" she snarled at him, her fists hitting him in the stomach, but he barely felt them. He couldn't look away from Ian. He didn't want to look away from Ian. "Get out, Mickey, NOW!"

"No."

There was no way in hell Mickey was leaving. Not now he had seen Ian. He had to protect him, he had to look after him. Even if he had no idea how he was going to do that.

Then Ian slowly turned to look at Lip and some sort of silent communication passed between them, because then all of a sudden Lip was ushering people out of the room. "Let's leave these two alone for a sec," he said, taking Debbie's hand and pulling her to her feet, "We all need a coffee, so let's go do that."

Of course, Fiona was dubious, didn't want to leave her little brother alone with the Big Bad Milkovich, but Lip shouted down her complaints, practically dragged her from the room. And that left Mickey alone with him, alone with his broken Gallagher.

Silence descended on the room like a blanket. Mickey didn't know what to say standing there awkwardly at the foot of the hospital bed and Ian was refusing to talk like Lip had said. Mickey had never been a talker though. He knew how to express things with his fists, he knew how to be angry, how to get drunk and how to fuck. He didn't know how to talk about emotions or how to comfort or anything that would be useful right now.

In their. . . relationship. . . whatever the hell it was . . . Ian had always been the one to talk. And just as Mickey was scrambling for words inside his own mind, as he was trying to drag together something to say, something meaningful, Ian spoke. Just like always, he filled the silence that stretched out between them because he knew Mickey wouldn't be able to do it.

His voice was broken and cracked from a mixture of emotion, pain and disuse. He just stared at Mickey in that all-seeing, all-knowing way of his and said, "They fucked up my knees, Mick."

He didn't cry, but it was like the floodgates had opened nevertheless. Ian's previously blank expression was twisted so suddenly in pain and it was gut wrenching, heart breaking and so horrible Mickey felt like he was drowning under the weight of all that emotion. But he understood it, he knew why that simple statement caused Ian so much pain and it made him wish all over again that he'd killed the fuckers who done this when he'd had the chance.

Because with fucked up knees, Ian couldn't get into WestPoint. He couldn't do everything he'd wanted to do. All of his dreams that he'd used to prop himself up had fallen out from underneath him in one night. Mickey didn't have dreams because he knew he was a fuck up for life, he knew having dreams was the fastest way to become disappointed, but that wasn't Ian. Ian had had a chance, he would have been able to get out of this shithole, he would have gone places and done things. He wouldn't just have been another drunk, drugged up loser from this area.

And that had been taken from him.

Mickey was standing next to him before he even knew he'd moved. He didn't take Ian's hand, even though he wanted to, because he remembered what Lip had said. He didn't want to freak Ian out. But he put his hand close to Ian's bandaged one and because Ian knew him better than Mickey would ever really admit, he would know that for Mickey, that was actually a pretty grand gesture. His hand being there would mean something to Gallagher and he could see in the other boy's eyes that he did.

And Mickey hated that Ian knew him like that, that he understood it. Because Mickey didn't deserve to have somebody understand him.

He handed Ian a glass of water from the table beside his bed because he knew the younger boy needed a drink. He waited until Ian handed it back to him before saying, "If it helps at all, I fucked up Jason's knee in return."

So many emotions flickered across Ian's face so quickly that Mickey didn't have time to tell what any of them were. He saw his eyes roam over all the blood on Mickey's clothing and hands, as though trying to assess how much damage Mickey had done.

"And both of their faces," he added, just because he didn't want Ian to think he'd stopped at their Jason's knee.

And then Ian's face crumpled and the tears fell from the corners of his eyes, sliding down onto the pillow. His hand closed the distance and his fingers slipped through Mickey's, holding onto his tight like Mickey was suddenly going to be torn from the room. He thought maybe Ian hated him for beating them up, but he knew that couldn't quite be right because it didn't make sense. Even as stupid as he knew he was, Mickey could see that logically it didn't make sense.

Then it all became clear when in a choked voice, Ian said, "You shouldn't have done that, I-I don't want you to go back there again." And Mickey knew he meant Juvie and his heart thundered in his chest that after everything Ian had been through, the thing he would cry over would be the idea of Mickey having to go back to Juvie.

It was touching and stupid. It was so incredibly stupid.

But what was even stupider was how Mickey felt the need to comfort and reassure him, how he brushed away the tears from the mostly uninjured side of Ian's face. How he bent close when he said, "That's not going to happen, Gallagher." He could see that Ian didn't understand, so he carried on without waiting for the redhead to make a comment. "I rang Tony, the cop to tell him what I'd done and who'd done this to you," he explained, desperately hoping that talking about this, about them wouldn't upset Ian further, "He said I should leave, that I didn't deserve to go back to Juvie for the one good thing I've ever done. So I left and came here."

He made himself smile, although he knew it was weak and was most likely in no way pretty or comforting. "So see, I'm not going to Juvie," he said, tagging on, "Again," in the hopes it would make Ian smile. It didn't.

Ian just stared at him, coughing slightly to clear the croak and the emotion out of his voice before asking, "You beat them up?"

"Yeah, I went over to get some weed and saw the bat, so when they started gloating about what they'd done, I just sorta lost it for a minute," Mickey confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand Ian wasn't holding, suddenly nervous. He felt out of place. He didn't like it. But at the same time he did. It was as confusing as hell.

"Why?" Ian asked, looking at him in that stupid fucking way of his with those wide puppy dog eyes and an expression that was like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Which was bullshit, because Mickey had been there and he knew that Ian Gallagher's mouth was as warm as hell. In fact, it was more than warm, it was fucking hot.

"You know why," Mickey replied harshly, "Do not make me say it Gallagher, I don't want to say it."

But Ian just stared at him with those wide bloody eyes in that fucking way of his and Mickey could feel himself crumbling. He could feel his resolve being chipped at bit by bit all because of the way one guy was looking at him. It was pathetic, that was what it was.

He still didn't want to say it though. He wasn't sure if he could say it. "Because your mine," he replied eventually, refusing to look at Ian but somehow unable to stop his eyes from roaming back to the wide eyed, innocent looking redhead, "And because I don't like people messing with what's mine."

That was close enough to the truth.

Form the smile that spread across Ian's battered face, it was enough as well. But then, of course it was enough. Because Ian knew Mickey, he knew exactly what Mickey felt but refused to say. And the fact that Mickey had said anything at all other than fuck off was a point for Gallagher.

"So does that make you mine?" he asked, which Mickey hadn't been expecting. So much so that the surprise even registered on his face for a second before he smoothed out his features. He didn't need Ian knowing he'd gotten completely under Mickey's guard.

"You can do so much better than me," Mickey said honestly and he meant those words more than he had meant anything in his life. Because it was true. Ian could get almost anybody he wanted. He could do anything, he had so many options and Mickey never could understand why he let himself by pushed around by a loser like he was. It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense. But Mickey was never really one to dwell too much on questioning good fortune.

Ian shrugged, wincing as he visibly regretted it. "I don't want to do better," he said and the honesty that rang as clear as day through his voice seemed to defrost something inside of Mickey. Possibly his heart. But he hated it at the same time because it made him feel sick. It made him feel sick because he could see that Ian really did care for him, probably more than anybody had ever cared for him.

And he didn't understand that. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve the love Ian was handing to him on a platter. He didn't deserve the way Ian was looking at him with trust, the way he was smiling at him with affection. He didn't deserve any of it, he didn't understand any of it, but then again, Mickey still wasn't the type to worry about questioning good fortune.

Ian would retract his love one day and Mickey knew that he was in so deep now he would probably wind up killing himself or doing something seriously stupid when that day came, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be expecting it.

"Fuck off," he said harshly, because he didn't know what else to say. Because he didn't want Ian to know how good it made Mickey feel inside at the knowledge that Ian actually wanted a fuck up like him.

Ian smiled, his fingers squeezing Mickey's. "No can do," he replied, a light-heartedness entering his voice, "I can't walk remember." He motioned to his legs with his broken arm and that just drew Mickey's attention to all those injuries again.

And he really wished he'd killed the fuckers when he thought about Ian's injuries.

He sat down in the chair beside Ian's bed which was still warm from one of the other Gallagher's ass. He let go of Ian's hand so that he could prop his feet up on the bed and lean back in the chair. He started picking at the dried blood on his knuckles as Ian's fingers started toying with the hem of Mickey's jeans.

"So what's the damage?" Mickey asked, because he had to know.

Ian looked up at him and Mickey knew he wanted to shrug, but after the last attempt, he wisely didn't try it again. "Stitches in my head, extensive bruising and I did have a concussion, but that's gone," Ian said, starting at the top and working down, pointing to the injuries as he mentioned them, "Broken thumb and left arm, sprained right wrist from when I hit the ground, four broken ribs on one side, two cracked ribs on the other, both kneecaps are shattered, my right ankle's broken, and. . ." he paused for a second, pouting in such an annoyingly adorable way, "They dislocated my pinky."

He held up the hand Mickey had previously been holding and held up the finger he meant. And it was the seriousness with which he was looking at Mickey concerning that one dislocated finger that suddenly had Mickey in a fit of laughter. He was pleased when Ian started laughing with him, albeit a slightly wheezy and broken sound.

When he sobered up, Mickey said through his smile, "I'm glad my Uncle's in jail."

Ian stopped laughing at that, although that huge shit eating grin never left his face. "That was random," he commented after a minute, his eyes locking on Mickey's and making his squirm. He hated when Ian looked at him like that, like he was seeing right through him. He hated more that he liked it as well though.

"Not really," Mickey replied, leaning back in his chair again and staring at the ceiling, "Because when those bastards get there I'm going to tell my Uncle to fuck them up and make their lives a living hell." He couldn't keep the grin from his face at the idea. It was a good idea. One of the best he'd had to date he thought.

He spared a glance at Ian, relieved to see that he was smiling as well.

They watched each other for a few minutes, until Mickey started to feel uncomfortable again. He stood up suddenly, surprising Ian. He started heading towards the door when he caught the panicked look in Ian's eyes. He turned back, forced himself to look relaxed even though the anger was starting to boil over inside of him again. Mickey hated how evident the pain had suddenly become in Ian's gaze.

"I'll be back in a sec," he said, "I'm just going to go get a pen."

Ian didn't ask why he needed a pen, but he visibly relaxed, sinking back into the pillows and smiling. He nodded and as quickly as he could without looking like a retard, Mickey left, got a marker pen from the nurse at the desk just outside Ian's room and then returned to the redhead's side.

This time he sat on Ian's left side, by the arm that was in a cast. He lifted it gently and pulled the lid off the pen with his teeth, spitting it onto the bed. It only took Ian a second to realise what he was doing, his face lighting up even more if that was possible.

"Right, I'm bored, so we're playing hangman," Mickey told him, starting to draw lines on the cast, "Can't believe you've been in here two weeks and nobody's drawn on this shit yet." He motioned to all the amount of cast that covered parts of Ian's body. "Right, you're guessing."

Ian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling so that was all that mattered. They were on their third game, which Ian had just lost, when the rest of the Gallagher's trooped back into the room. Fiona was glaring at him instantly, noticing what he was doing but probably not registering it at all considering the amount of fuss she made about it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

Mickey shrugged, looking up from where he was filling in the missing letters Ian hadn't managed to guess. He wasn't all that great at hangman for a smart guy. He was actually pretty shit. "Playing hangman," Mickey replied simply, knowing that would piss her off, but not caring.

And she looked about ready to scream at him when somebody else spoke.

"Mickey,  _fuckwad_ ¸ is not a word," Ian protested in a whiney voice, looking down at his cast to the completed word Mickey had just filled in. He looked up from it after a moment and scowled, obviously not impressed, but it really wasn't Mickey's fault that his vocabulary mainly consisted of swear words.

He laughed because honestly the expression of outrage on Ian's face was hilarious. "Don't be a girl just because you lost," he said, laughing more when Ian snatched the pen from his grasp, "Ooh, now your just getting stroppy."

He watched as Ian proceeded to write ' _That's not a word, so I did not lose!'_  on the cast beside the game of hangman, drawing an arrow to it just so that he could emphasise his point. And it was so childish, so ridiculous that Mickey couldn't help but find it adorable.

And he hated that he found it adorable, so he immediately looked away from Ian and straight at the open-mouthed and staring Gallaghers. The only one that didn't actually seem all that surprised was Lip. In fact, Lip just looked smug.

After Ian finished writing on his cast and followed Mickey's gaze to his family, Fiona seemed to snap out of it. She glared at Mickey like everything was his fault all of a sudden, which wasn't actually a look he was unaccustomed to, but still it annoyed him. Then again, he was just in a mood where everything but Ian was annoying him. Hell, even Ian was annoying him, but he always annoyed him and it was a good sort of annoying. If that was even possible.

"Why would he talk to you?" Fiona demanded in her irrational angry sort of way.

It was like Ian wasn't even lying there.

Mickey just shrugged, making the situation worse like he always did when he said, "Maybe I just had something more interesting to say." He could see how much that pissed her off, especially considering the fact that she didn't even understand why he was here in the first place. She obviously didn't like it, but he didn't care. He wasn't leaving.

Not for a long period of time anyway, but Mickey wasn't a complete idiot. He could see that now Ian was talking again, he needed to spend some time with his family. He stood, looking down at Ian when he said, "I'm going to go wash the blood and crap off my hands, you want anything?"

Mickey didn't have much money in his pockets, but he had enough for a coffee.

Ian smiled in an oddly private way up at him. "Coward," he mouthed.

He scowled, "Shut the fuck up Gallagher," he snapped back, "I don't care if you're a cripple now, I  _will_ punch you." Only ever so lightly and in a place that wouldn't hurt Ian at all – like his toes – but Mickey would still hit him.

In front of him, he could hear Fiona start to say something, but he was still looking at Ian, focussed only on Ian. "So you want anything or what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his annoying as fuck redhead.

Unlike his sister, Ian took Mickey's insult in stride, viewed it even as a sign of affection. Which Mickey supposed it probably was in some twisted way, but it wasn't  _supposed_  to be. Nobody else knew it wasn't really an insult other than Ian, because nobody else understood him.  _God, he hated that Ian fucking Gallagher was the one who understood him!_

"Chocolate would be nice," he replied, that small smile appearing on his mouth again and all of a sudden all Mickey wanted to do was kiss him. But he didn't, because they didn't do that. And even if they did do that, they especially would  _not_  do that in a room full of his family.

"Kay," he replied, wading through the masses of Gallaghers. He was almost out of the room as well before one of them caught his arm. For a second he thought it was Fiona about to yell at him or hit him or something, but it was Lip. He was holding a t-shirt in the hand that wasn't gripping Mickey's bicep.

"This is Ian's," he said, holding out the shirt, "We brought some clothes just in case he ever needs to change or anything, but he doesn't." Mickey just stared at him, wondering how the hell this affected him. "You might want to change into it," Lip elaborated, "You look kinda psychotic walking around like that."

He motioned to the blood on Mickey's own shirt and that was when he understood. He made himself nod as politely as was possible, take the shirt and mutter, "Thanks." He was surprised and when he was surprised he was even worse with manners than usual.

As he walked out of the room, he could hear Fiona start to talk to Ian, but he knew if he focussed on the words then he'd never get out of there, so instead he shut it all out and left them to it. Mickey found a toilet and changed his shirt in there, stuffing the blood-stained one into the trashcan. He was glad Ian had bulked up a little recently, because otherwise he never would have fit into the shirt. It was still a little tight, but it was something he could deal with. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable.

What did annoy him however was how the shirt smelt just like Ian. The smell wrapped around him like a sort of vice, all of the blood suddenly rushing to his dick and making his semi-hard. And it was stupid, because it was just from the smell of a damn t-shirt. But Mickey loved the way Ian smelt, like soap, shampoo and peppermint gum. And it shouldn't have been possible, but that smell clung to the clean shirt he was wearing, filled his head with memories of when the smell of Ian's sweat would mix in with everything else, when they were fucking.

Shaking those thoughts out of his head so that he didn't embarrass himself when he walked out of the toilets, Mickey took his time wandering down two floors to the hospital's shop. He had a little more than he thought in his pocket so he bought a coffee as well as the chocolate Ian that had asked for.

When he got back upstairs, he found that most of the Gallaghers were perched on the chairs around the room and those that weren't were sitting on the floor. And Ian was there in the middle on the bed, looking tired and withdrawn again. Depressed, that was the word. Mickey hated that look on his face. He hated how Ian was always smiling all the time, but he decided that he hated that look even more.

"I swear to God, I'm going to kick the shit out of the guys who did this if I ever get my hands on them," Fiona was saying, oblivious in her angered state to the affect that her words were having on Ian.

"Too late," he said as he walked in, "I already beat you to it."

He rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip as everybody's attention suddenly snapped to him. But he didn't miss the way that Ian visibly relaxed, his features smoothing out as he smiled at Mickey. Fiona didn't miss it either and it was clear from her expression that she didn't understand it at all. And that was fine with Mickey, but at that moment he couldn't have cared if she did.

Mickey shrugged, sitting on the edge of Ian's bed near his feet, facing him since every other seat was occupied. "I handed them over to the police afterwards," he said since they were still all staring at him, "And it's not like they won't heal eventually." He looked at Ian and handed over the coffee, tearing into the Snickers bar he'd bought with his teeth, "They're lucky I didn't kill them."

And he knew Ian could see how seriously he meant that. If Ian asked him to, he knew he'd still find a way to make sure they ended up dead, but he knew Ian well enough that he knew that he would never ask that of Mickey.

He bit a chunk out of the Snickers, grinning a chocolaty grin when Ian looked offended before handing it over. Instantly he wished he'd just stuffed the whole damn thing in his mouth though because Ian got a look of pure bliss on his face when he bit into the chocolate and Mickey could feel himself growing semi-hard again. He shifted uncomfortably, heat rising in his cheeks, which of course Ian noticed.

He stared at Mickey for a moment, obviously trying to work out what was wrong before laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher," he growled under his breath, snatching back the Snickers bar and ramming the rest into his mouth, "I will hurt you, I swear to God." But of course that just made Ian laugh all the more, to the degree that Mickey had to take the coffee off of him so that he didn't spill it. "I hate you," Mickey muttered when he'd calmed down somewhat.

"No you don't," Ian replied, that shit eating grin back on his face again.

"Fuck you," Mickey told him, because it was all he could think to say. Because he didn't want to deny what was true from Ian. Not today. He'd deny it all tomorrow, just not today. Of course, the random – maybe not so random, who the fuck knew – flash of arousal in Ian's eyes only made Mickey half-hard again and they were right back to square one.

Mickey had almost forgot that Ian's fucking family were watching all of this. He thought about kicking off, but he remembered the look of panic in Ian's eyes when he'd randomly got up and started to walk off so he pushed down that notion immediately. He'd storm out tomorrow, or next week, whenever Ian was feeling a bit better and didn't get that look when Mickey left.

He both hated and liked the idea of somebody being dependant on him. It felt strange though, because nobody every relied on Mickey, he was too much of a fuck up. But Ian was watching him with those ridiculously wide eyes and Mickey knew that the redhead was relying on him. For exactly what, Mickey didn't know, but he could recognise dependence when he saw it.

As he sipped his coffee, he watched out of the corner of his eye. Fiona reached towards Ian when the redhead isn't looking. No doubt it's just to draw his attention, a completely innocent gesture, but Ian jumps a mile. His face twists in a mixture of pain and fear as he tries to move away from Fiona and her sudden touch, the movement jolting his injured ribs.

Everybody else in the room tenses, waiting for something that doesn't come. They expecting him to scream or to do something, but he doesn't. He doesn't because Mickey flicks the screwed up Snickers wrapper at him. It hits him in the face, bouncing right off of his forehead. Their eyes meet and Ian's expression suddenly becomes conflicted, like he doesn't know whether to scowl or smile.

"What?" Mickey asked innocently, even though they all knew there has never been anything innocent about Mickey Milkovich. He takes another sip of his coffee and it's scalding, painful, but it helps keep him grounded. It helps remind him that he's not Gallagher's boyfriend, he's just the secret fuck-buddy nobody knows about who cares a little more than he should.

"Dickhead," Ian muttered in a low voice.

"Pussy."

"Asshole."

"Firecrotch," Mickey returned with a smirk playing on his lips.

Ian grins at the nickname in that full blown, hundred watt way of his that even though he would never admit it, makes Mickey want to kiss him so badly. Neither of them are interested in insulting each other anymore and they settle into a sort of comfortable silence, nobody else in the room speaking either. But it's like there isn't even anybody else there with them. But of course, they are all there, all the rest of the Gallagher clan and that's the only thing that keeps Mickey from breaking his own rule about no bullshit signs of affection non-related to fucking and take Ian's hand.

And then, just like always, when they fall into silence, Ian's off talking enough for the both of them. He starts talking about how it's almost time for food to come, talks about the shitty quality of the food, about how he didn't quite know what the hell it was they served him yesterday for tea. He talks until the words lose meaning for Mickey, he still listens, could still tell you what Ian was talking about, but more than anything he was just savouring the sound of Ian's voice.

Sure enough, just like Ian had been saying, food arrived for him not much later. Mickey pulled a face because he had to move so that they could put the tray down and he thought it was supposed to resemble Lasagne, but the meat was a little bit of a dodgy colour.

Before Ian could move one of his crippled hands, Mickey swiped the fork and shovelled a spoonful into his own mouth. Everybody in the room – except for perhaps Lip, because that boy just had a permanent look on his face that said what he was witnessing was better than a TV show – looked outraged, but he didn't care for what they thought. He looked down at Ian and shrugged. "Testing it wasn't poisoned or some shit like that," he said, "Besides, you were just saying how much you hate the fucking food here anyway."

He heard Fiona starting to have a go at him, but he tuned her out. Sort of like he did with his Dad when he was yelling at him.

"So, is it poisoned?" Ian asked over the top of his sister's ranting, smiling at him.

Mickey pulled a face and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he gave back the fork. "Nah, poison would make it fucking taste better," he said and it was the truth. The meat looked dodgy and tasted even worse. He actually felt sorry for Gallagher having to eat the stuff every day. He even felt a little bit sorry for stealing most of the Snickers bar.

While Ian was eating, the rest of the Gallaghers seemed to relax, starting up their own conversations, quite pointedly leaving Mickey out of them. Not that he cared. Honestly, he really couldn't have given two shits. He wasn't even sure he liked any of them. Before these past two weeks he hadn't even been sure he really liked Ian beyond the fact he liked to fuck him. Of course, Lip wasn't too bad if he thought about it, the baby could be excused because it was a baby. . . but the kid, Carl was a sociopath in the making and kind of freaked Mickey out, the other one, Debbie or something like that talked as much as Ian did, but her talking was definitely something he found pointless and annoying and well Fiona was still glaring at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of her shoe that smelt bad.

 _Why the fuck am I here again?_  He thought, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

"Don't leave me," Ian whispered to him, so quiet that nobody else heard it. Even Mickey wasn't sure he had actually spoken until he looked down into Ian's wide, desperate looking eyes. "Please." And the pain in his gaze was practically choking, it was overwhelming and Mickey knew he wouldn't be able to sleep properly before that look was permanently wiped off Ian's face.

"I won't," he whispered back just as quietly, his eyes holding Gallagher's.

_Oh right, that's why I'm here._


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey ended up spending almost all of his time at the hospital with Ian. He slept there even. And that was a combination of the nurses not quite having the courage to tell him to leave and the one time Fiona forced him to, Ian screamed down the place and had to be sedated. So all in all, it was just easier if they let Mickey stay.

One night, it was the screams that woke him. They tore through his dreamless sleep, jolted him up and awake. Ian was there on the bed, thrashing and screaming, his eyes still closed but his mouth gaping open and his head thrown back.

The sound was horrible, it was heart-wrenching and Mickey didn't exactly know what the protocol for situations like this was, so he did the first thing he could think of. He trapped Ian's thrashing head between both of his hands, stilling him slightly as he spoke to him.

"Ian, Ian, it's okay, open your eyes, Ian, look at me," he said, relatively loudly so that he could actually be heard over the screams. It sort of reminded him of when Kash had shot him, Ian's words to him that day when he'd been lying on the floor, a bullet wound in his leg.

Unlike when their roles had been reversed though and it had been Mickey screaming – although it was more like cursing rather loudly and repeatedly – Ian didn't seem to register the words. And Mickey suspected that it was probably because it was an outright lie. None of this was okay, not one single thing about him being in this hospital was okay.

So he changed tactics.

"Oy, Gallagher, shut the fuck up!"

That got his eyes to open and he blinked up at Mickey for a second, disorientated. His eyes met Mickey's and he frowned, "M-Mick?"

"No, it's fucking Santa, yeah it's me, dickwad," Mickey retorted before he could help it, but Ian was fragile and would probably only start feeling more so if Mickey started being nice and mollycoddling him like everybody else was doing. He still didn't let go of Ian's head though and he knew the other boy could see all the niceness and comfort in his eyes, he didn't need to say it out loud. Mickey's fingers slid into the sides of Ian's soft hair, but at the same time he was searching the redhead's face for signs that this was too much. Physical closeness was something Ian had quite rightly had issues with recently, so Mickey never made the first move, not that he ever had done, not really. He didn't want to freak his Firecrotch out, but holding his head like he was definitely classified as the first move this time.

"Some of us are trying to sleep, you know?" he said because he had to say something, "So would ya mind shutting up?"

Ian didn't say anything. Like Mickey, he seemed to be focussed mainly on the closeness between them. Their faces were only inches apart and Mickey couldn't stop himself from shivering as Ian's gaze slid down from his eyes to his mouth, staring rather pointedly at it.

Mickey knew what he wanted. It was what the little shit had always wanted but Mickey had never let him have. Because that was letting Ian well and truly under his skin. Mickey had never kissed anybody and it sounded pathetic, Mickey knew that, but he had his reasons. It was because Mickey felt like feelings came with kisses because they weren't obligatory, they had to be freely given as an unnecessary part of sex. Kissing required and showed feelings that a quick fuck in a storeroom or some other random place that was private for a few minutes would never be able to show.

That was his theory anyway.

But now, looking at Ian, he sort of wanted to let the redhead under his skin.

"Say one word about this and I'll cut your fucking tongue out," he warned right before closing his mouth over Gallagher's.

It wasn't anything particularly spectacular at first, but then Ian's mouth started moving against his and everything just seemed to shatter. It was literally like fireworks were going off in his brain, as cheesy as he knew that sounded. Ian's fingers gripped the back of Mickey's head, even with the cast on one arm and he could feel them digging in, no doubt leaving marks, bruises. But Mickey didn't care in the slightest, because that was how they were. They bruised and marked each other with their fingers and teeth, drawing blood, creating wounds neither of them saying it was because it marked the other as partly theirs.

There had never been anything gentle about the way that they were together and even though Ian was injured now, it still wasn't. It was rough and brutal and when Mickey pushed his tongue against the seam of Ian's lips, seeking entrance and then gaining it, it became all tongues and teeth and delicious whispers of pain. Mickey sucked Ian's tongue into his mouth, loving the moan that elicited from the other boy and in return, Ian tugged on his hair, jerked his head back slightly before crushing their mouths back together none to gently. When Ian's fingers dug especially hard into Mickey's flesh, he bit down on the younger boy's lower lip, rough enough to draw blood.

And Ian almost growled into his mouth, the arm which was in a cast snaking around Mickey's back and pulling him closer still, the fingers of his other hand still buried in the back of his hair. And Mickey had one hand holding the side of Ian's head, the other holding his throat, his thumb digging into the other boy's jaw in a way that had to be painful. But Ian didn't make any sort of complaint.

Mickey's convinced as Ian runs his tongue over Mickey's bottom lip that he can feel the touch of that tongue right the way down to his toes, that he will be able to feel it forever. And he hates how much he loves that feeling, because it's the best feeling in the world kissing Ian Gallagher and he can't think why he'd never done it sooner. He hates himself for not doing it sooner, he was missing out. Because their kissing was like a deeper extension of everything else they did when they touched and he'd been right, it was different, it did mean more, but it felt good because they were claiming, owning and devouring each other, the desperation building between them until it didn't seem containable any longer.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually Mickey managed to gather the resolve to tear himself away. But not before he pressed his face into Ian's neck and sank his teeth into the soft fleshy patch of skin underneath his jaw. He didn't know why he did it, but Mickey felt better when he saw the bite rising to form a lasting mark, possibly even bruising – he really had bitten hard – that the bastards who'd put Ian here, who'd fucked up his life so completely weren't the only ones who had a mark on his skin.

He fell back into his chair, rubbing his thumb over his mouth, already remembering the feel over Ian's mouth, his taste. And the little shit was grinning at him like the cat that got the canary or whatever the fuck the saying was and touching the mark rapidly forming under his jaw.

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey snapped, hating the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth in response to the one he was receiving. "And what the fuck are you looking at?" he asked, glaring at the nurse that stood stunned in the doorway. She'd obviously been attracted by Ian's screaming, which probably meant she'd seen rather a lot. Bit of a fucking voyeur wasn't she.

Something told Mickey that he should be pissed off that somebody had caught them in a moment more intimate than any of their others. He should be running because someone else knew. But he stayed where he was. He was tired, he couldn't be bothered to run away or make a fuss. Who the hell was the nurse going to tell anyway?

For some reason the nurse smiled at them when he kicked his feet up onto the bed. It was probably because Ian instantly started toying with Mickey's shoelaces, like it was impossible for him not to touch Mickey. After that kiss though, Mickey could kind of understand that.

"You scream again Gallagher," Mickey warned without looking at him, "I'll fucking kill you, understand me?"

Ian laughed, which wasn't the response he usually got with his threats, but one he almost always got from Firecrotch when he dished them out. That or a smile. But that was because Ian saw right through him. "Sure Mick." His voice was husky, deeper sounding and Mickey hated that sound because he loved it and it made him even harder than he had been before. "Night."

"Yeah whatever," he replied, shutting his eyes, hating the smile on his own face.


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey was at work. He'd left as the nurse had come in to check up on him, check how he was healing and give him some painkillers. It was still the same nurse from that night, the one who'd seen them and Ian suspected that was the only reason Mickey didn't simply grunt his goodbye. Instead, he kissed Ian hard and quick, his fingers digging into the bruise under his jaw, reminding him of last night.

And then he'd walked out with a smug smile on his face.

The moment he'd left though, Ian couldn't explain it. It was like all the air had been sucked from the room, like he was choking, drowning, suffocating and he hated it. Hated that he suddenly felt open and defenceless. The fear gripped at his insides, clawing at them until he felt like he was going to be sick. Because the memories were flickering behind his eyelids every time he blinked and Ian withdrew further inside of himself to stop them from taking over, knowing he was going to hate every minute until Mickey came back.

And it wasn't that Mickey had been the one to dish out justice to the O'Connor brothers, it was the fact that he was the one completely indifferent, unchanged thing in his life at the moment. Other people all walked on eggshells around him, their quietly voiced concerns and voiced worries annoying to hear. But Mickey, Mickey was as blunt and harsh and brutal as he had been out of the hospital. He was still sarcastic and mean and his every sentence seemed to be interlaced with an insult, but Ian had learnt long ago that his insults could be compliments and his harsh words could be love confessions.

He loved that he'd worked Mickey out about as well as anybody could.

Ian flinched involuntarily as the nurse touched the side of his face, studying the bruises there. He knew she was focussing on his new one. "Got yourself a rough one there, kid," she commented even though she wasn't much older than he was, not really, "And aggressive." She was obviously mentioning Mickey's words to her when she'd appeared in the doorway.

She didn't know that she'd gotten off lightly and he was still amazed Mickey hadn't bolted.

Maybe that was one way Mickey had changed, he had stopped leaving all the time, stopped panicking as much. But Ian hardly saw that as a bad thing.

Ian couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he touched the mark again. Mickey was always marking him when they had sex, biting his shoulders, arms, thighs, gripping him so tight that he had perfectly formed hand marks on him for days. And Ian loved it, just like Mickey loved it when he gave as good in return, when he marked Mickey just the same. This time it meant more though, it meant more to him than he could explain that Mickey would bruise him even despite all the injuries.

Fiona would flip if she noticed it was a new bruise. She hated Mickey hanging around, didn't understand it and Ian didn't know how to explain that Mickey had become as vital to him as air was to live.

"He's always been like that," he told the nurse, surprising her because she obviously didn't think he would reply. He normally never did. "I don't think he got enough hugs as a kid or something." In fact, Ian knew he hadn't. He could remember a younger Mickey and he'd still been as angry, as rude and as Goddamn eager for a fight as he was now.

He'd been the little boy who'd taken a piss on first base half way through a baseball game. He was the boy who'd been best friends with Lip for two years and had just sort of accepted that Ian would tag along after his older brother. He was the boy who had defended Ian once, jumping in and throwing punches and then as though realising he'd just defended the little brother of a friend he hadn't spoken to in a few years, he punched Ian as well.

Ian had so many memories of Mickey, interwoven with some of the other Milkovich's sometimes and admittedly most of them were negative. Somehow they'd gone from Mickey swearing at Ian if he ever made contact at the Kash and Grab and chasing him through the store when he thought Ian had hurt Mandy to Mickey sitting on his chest, pinning him to the bed, mutual desire seeming to crackle through the air between them when their eyes met.

If anybody would have told the younger, so much more innocent Ian who'd stood on second base and watched Micky piss on first that he would one day love that boy completely irrationally but with everything that he had, he would have thought they were high. It hadn't seemed possible until it had been happening.

But God how he was glad it was happening. Just like that kiss, the things you waited for without meaning to, the things that just happened, surprising everybody, they were the best things. Even lying in a hospital bed more broken than any person should ever be, the giddy, happy feelings Mickey started in his stomach with just a look were already interlacing with the darkness of his memories, lighting them up, burning them away, drawing Ian out of his own mind inch by inch with every smirk and every snide comment.


	5. Chapter 5

Mickey only went home for a shower, because he figured he was actually getting pretty gross, even by his standards. It was one of the quickest showers of his life, followed by him hastily pulling on clothes that smelt half decent even while his skin was still damp. He didn't like lingering, not when he knew Ian was at the hospital waiting for him, not when he knew the guy would be sinking deeper and deeper inside of himself the longer Mickey was away.

He could imagine Ian getting grilled by that sister of his right now.

Unfortunately, what he hadn't counted on was Mandy. She stopped him by catching a hold of his arm as he rushed past, spinning him around to face her, worry written all over her face. She was all done up, gunk plastering her face and eyes in a way that he knew straight guys loved. Give Mickey stubble and a dick any day over a supposedly sweet smelling girl with fake tits and a face that looked completely different once the makeup was removed.

The only thing that stopped him from biting of her head instantly though was the fact that he'd never seen her look so sad. She looked like she was only seconds away from crying and he hated that, because Milkovich's didn't cry. Some of the time, Mickey thought that Mandy was the only one of them who even had tear ducts.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the words coming out harsh, but that was just the way he was, "Who do I have to kill?" Because he would kill them for his sister. He remembered when she'd had him chasing Ian around town for upsetting her. It hadn't quite made sense when she'd called him and their other two fuckwad brothers off of Gallagher. Of course, it later made sense to him when Ian was buried balls deep in Mickey's ass, but that wasn't the point. He wondered if Mandy even knew Ian was gay. She was constantly referring to him as her boyfriend, so he wasn't sure. He kept meaning to ask Ian, but he was the one that always did the talking and Mickey always forgot he'd had something to ask when they started fucking.

She scrubbed at the skin under her eyes even though no tears had fallen yet. "Nobody," she replied, "And I know your busy and like running off somewhere, but do you think you could come with me to the hospital?"

He knew why, but still he asked.

"I want to go see Ian," she told him, "But I don't want to go on my own."

He didn't point out that all of the Gallaghers would be there by now, so she wouldn't be alone, but it was the perfect excuse, so he didn't say anything. "Sure, whatever," he said, feigning boredom and nonchalance when he was bound so tight full of nerves that the need to be at the hospital was practically killing him.

Mandy didn't know where he'd been going and she was the only one who'd even notice he wasn't staying the night at home. That he was never really home. Of course, she was smart enough not to bother asking him where he was running off to and he was glad about that, because he would have had to come up with some sort of excuse. There was no way he could tell her where he really was. He couldn't tell her that he basically lived at the hospital this last week.

Mandy rushed right into the room and nobody complained. She pressed her mouth to Ian's without a single hesitation and although he did flinch slightly, he didn't react overly badly, so that was progress. The only thing Mickey hated though was how jealousy coiled in his stomach at the ease with which his sister kissed Ian. Or maybe it was knowing she'd beaten him there, she'd got to taste that mouth first because Mickey hadn't had the courage to do it for so long. Not until a handful of hours ago.

Ian looked past Mandy when she pulled away from him and the blinding smile that he gave Mickey instantly made him feel better. Ian didn't smile at Mandy like that, he didn't smile at anybody like that, only Mickey. And the second reward was the way the tension visibly seemed to be seeping out of Ian.

Mickey only just managed to supress his own smile, but he knew Ian could see it in his eyes. "Hey douchebag," he said, moving further into the room, ignoring the glares he was given, "Not dead yet then?"

That was the moment when the nurse poked her head into the room and it was the same one from last night. She grinned at him and all Mickey could think was,  _doesn't that bitch sleep, or does she just fucking live here?_

"I'm really sorry guys," she said, addressing the whole room and getting people's attention immediately, "But I'm going to have to ask you all to leave for five minutes while the doctor does a check-up on Ian."

As if on cue, a slightly older, grey-haired man appeared behind her. He looked tired, but nevertheless tried to smile. Mickey didn't like him, he decided. There was no real reasoning behind that excuse.

Everybody nodded and filed out of the door and Mickey waited until they'd all gone, leaving him alone in the room with Ian and the doctor. Even the nurse had left. "I'll be right outside," he said stupidly, not sure why he'd said it, but feeling like he needed to.

Ian smiled weakly and nodded, "Okay."

Outside the room, most of the Gallagher's trickled off no doubt to get coffee or something, but Mickey stayed right outside the door like he had said. Mandy was beside him, looking even more stressed than they had before they stepped foot in the hospital. She was playing with a piece of her hair and stared at Mickey with wide eyes when he looked at her. "He looks terrible," she whispered, like it was a crime to be saying that.

"Well what did you expect?" Mickey asked, but he knew that it was a shock seeing Ian like he was for the first time. He wondered why Mandy hadn't come to see him earlier. He wondered how long she'd actually known. "But it's not like he won't heal." Or at least that was what he kept telling himself every time he saw the bruises on Ian's face and the cast on his arm and legs.

Mandy glared at him, "Could you be any more of a dick?"

"Probably," he replied, because it was the truth. He never could understand why people didn't just tell the truth in situations like this. They always had to cushion everything, say things vaguely, gently, like the person who was injured didn't already know they were broken.

She snorted, glaring at him again before the nurse diverted her attention.

It was the nurse from last night and she was smiling at Mickey like she could see right into his soul, like she thought he was a good guy or something. Which he wasn't. Seeing him stop Ian screaming, seeing them kissing would not turn him into a good person. Ian knew that, the rest of the world would learn it eventually. Mickey didn't even want to change, he liked himself the way he was oddly enough.

"What?" he asked briskly, narrowing his eyes at her.

He didn't even flinch and Mickey knew instantly that she'd been talking to Ian about him.

"I was just wondering if you wanted me to get a bed set up in there or something?" she asked, obviously meaning well, which just made Mickey dislike her. Just like with the doctor, there wasn't any real reason behind that decision, he just didn't. But then, Mickey didn't really like anybody. "If you're planning on staying the night again that is, the chair just doesn't look very comfortable."

Mickey flinched when he felt Mandy's attention completely turn to him, "You stay here at night?"

"Um, yeah, sometimes," he muttered, refusing to look at her and catching the apologetic glance that the nurse through his way. He wanted to scream at her, wanted to blame her, but there was that little nagging in the back of his mind that told him that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Mandy knew. "I mean, he works at the store with me and everything," he continued, not knowing how to force the words swirling around his brain out, "And he isn't that bad so I just. . . " He didn't know how to finish that sentence.

And then the doctor was poking his head out of the door, Ian's screams echoing down the corridor, drawing people's attention. "Nurse, I think we're going to need to sedate him!" the doctor was shouting, but Mickey was already pushing past him, into the room, towards Ian.

His gut was twisting at the idea of Ian being sedated, he didn't know why, but he hated it, so he grabbed at Ian's flailing hands, ignoring the fact his sister and the doctor and God knows how many other people were standing there watching and squeezed his fingers tight to get his attention. Ian's gaze flickered towards him, but it hardly seemed to register that Mickey was there.

"Gallagher, what did I fucking say?" he asked loudly, over the screams, changing tactic and pinning the wrist in the cast to the bed – because he'd just been smacked around the head with that hand and it fucking hurt – and grabbing the side of Ian's face with the other. He pushed his fingertips into the bruise under his jaw. And just like Mickey had known it would, the pain made Ian gasp, made the screams stutter to a halt and made him focus. It brought him back.

"I really hate the sound of you screaming, you know that?" he asked roughly, hating how his voice was suddenly clogged up with emotions he didn't often –  _ever_  – express. He chewed on the corner of his lip, biting hard to try and gain control.

Ian's eyes were filling with tears and without even thinking Mickey pulled him towards him, crushing the younger boy's head into the crook of his neck and holding him there. "I don't want to be like this anymore." He almost didn't hear the whispered words and he knew nobody else heard them. That pleased him, because he knew how much it took for Ian to admit that, even to himself and especially to Mickey.

He ground his teeth together to try and control the anger building inside of him again. He needed to punch something, hurt something. "I know, Firecrotch, I know," he muttered back, hugging him so tight that it had to be hurting his injured ribs, but Ian didn't complain. Mickey had a feeling that the pain was helping keep him grounded.

He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. He couldn't promise that things were going to get all better, because this was probably going to stay with Ian for the rest of his life. And Mickey hated thinking that, more than he could ever remember hating a thought before, but there wasn't anything to do about it. He could have told Ian that he was always going to be there, that no matter what he said to the contrary, he wasn't going to leave him to deal with this on his own. But Ian knew that and if he didn't know that then he fucking should have done. Mickey couldn't say the words though, he wanted to, he really did, but he knew they'd only get messed up from the way to his brain to his tongue and he'd wind up swearing at Ian or something.

So for a long time he just said nothing.

Mickey's face was pressed into Ian's hair and it smelt like cheap mint-scented shampoo and something that was just Ian. He breathed that smell into his lungs, held it there almost like he was smoking a joint. Before he could lose himself, before he could do something he'd regret later and more importantly because he was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable, he pushed Ian away gently.

"Stop fucking crying," he said harshly, looking at the tears glistening on Ian's cheeks and wanting to wipe them away. He didn't. Instead he stood up. "I hate it when people cry." He really did, he didn't know how to react, because he wasn't sure he had tear ducts, remember. He didn't know how to handle it.

Ian smiled at him and scrubbed at his cheeks. "Thanks, Mick," he muttered.

"Yeah whatever," he replied quickly, allowing himself a small smile because nobody else but Ian could see his face, "You want anything?"

"Coffee would be good," he said, knowing Mickey needed to get out of the room and not taking it personally. At the moment, Mickey just felt like a caged animal.

He nodded and turned abruptly, pushing past the handful of people in the doorway who had been watching them, heading towards the stairs. He was dimly aware of Mandy following him, but he didn't want to think about that yet.

She didn't say anything to him as they stood in line to get coffee, she just stood there a step behind him, tailing him like she expected he was going to bolt. And if it hadn't been for the wide eyed, stupid smiling ginger haired Gallagher upstairs, he probably would have.

They sat at a table in the very corner, far away from everybody else and still she didn't say anything. She just watched him stare into his coffee, like some of the answers were magically going to appear in the sludge-like bitter tasting liquid.

He would have liked to be able to say that he'd always considered telling Mandy, that he'd been planning to eventually, but that would be a lie. Mickey would be perfectly happy, he would be on top of the world if he could have lived his life without a single person knowing about his preferences. He'd maybe thought about telling Mandy once, for like half a second and that was only because he'd seen her kiss Ian like she sometimes did and it had made him feel sick. Not because he felt bad for his sister obviously having a little bit of a crush on the red-head, but because he'd been jealous. He'd actually been jealous of his little sister.

He'd gone and gotten very drunk when he'd realised that, like that would help. It hadn't done.

So now he was sitting there across from his sister, knowing she was waiting for him to speak, knowing he was going to have to tell the truth – because he couldn't very well deny it now, could he? – and he didn't even have the faintest clue what he was going to say. Normally people would probably have some sort of idea how they would explain their sexuality to somebody. Mickey didn't, because he hadn't ever planned on anybody finding out.

He should have known that would go down the drain the moment he fucked Gallagher.

Mickey could feel his features scrunching into a frown and he took a mouthful of the scalding liquid to try and calm himself down, to try and distract himself. It didn't really work, it just hurt like hell. He didn't know how long they sat there, but eventually Mandy caved in – he sort of knew she would – and reached across the table to take his hand, her fingers squeezing his.

"Mickey, it's okay."

He snorted, jerking his hand out of her grasp and leaning back in the chair to glare at her. He didn't quite know why he was glaring. "No it's not fucking okay," he fumed, his eyes narrowing dangerously, "If it was okay, Ian would not be up there in a hospital bed, he would not be screaming or crying and I would not be having this damn conversation."

Problem was, for people like them, things never turned out okay.

Her face fell slightly and he thought for a moment that she was going to cry. But she was a Milkovich, albeit a female Milkovich, but she still didn't cry. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his sister cry. She looked ugly when she cried, which he told her every time she did. That was about as comforting as he could be besides threatening the person who'd made her cry with bodily harm.

"So, I'm guessing your gay," she said after a moment, recovering pretty quickly and thankfully, not crying.

"No shit Sherlock."

Why was he being horrible? This was a sensitive matter. He'd lied to her, pretended to be something he wasn't. So why wasn't he apologising? He knew he should probably be apologising, but at that moment his fight or flight mechanism was screaming fight.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "You know I don't care right," she told him and even though she sounded nonchalant, he could tell how much she meant that, "Just as long as you don't go stealing my boyfriend or whatever."

He smirked, "Too late."

That made them both smile and he was pleased more than he'd ever admit to that she wasn't mad at him for. . . being with Ian? Could he phrase it like that? Were they together? He didn't even know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"My  _real_ boyfriends then," she clarified and he resisted the urge to point out that she had fuck buddies, not boyfriends. She was a bit of a slut if he was only admitting it to himself, but anybody else said that he'd break them.

"I actually have taste you know," he said instead, because even the guys she brought back as fuck buddies weren't exactly a great selection. She could do better and he definitely couldn't go near them with a barge pole.

Mandy snorted, "Although, it looks like your  _taken_."

He scowled, not willing to admit to anything. Especially when he didn't know how to define it himself. "Whatever."

He really wished he could think of a way to wipe the grin off her face, but his mind was blank.

"So how long's that been going on?" she asked, her smile turning even more fucking annoying if that was even possible.

Mickey scoffed, "Like fuck am I telling you."

"I'll just ask Ian then," she said shrugging.

He only sighed, because he knew she would. The worst part: he knew Ian would answer her.


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing to come off was the cast on Ian's arm and before that, the weeks just seemed to blur together for Mickey. He spent that much time in the hospital, it was like he lived there, but the days Ian's cast came off seemed like a more significant moment than it probably was. For Mickey, it showed that things were getting better, he was healing. Albeit slowly.

The day the cast came off, Mickey was practically on cloud nine and that was before he even knew about Ian's medical progress. "Gallagher, I've got fucking news," he said as he walked through the door, nodding at the nurse on duty behind the desk outside of it.

Ian looked up and instantly that wide shit eating grin was plastered on his face. "So have I," he replied and Mickey could feel his stomach drop. When Ian had news, normally it was something the doctor had told him after some scan or something, it usually wasn't good news if Ian actually felt the need to pass it on.

But he was grinning, so that made Mickey relax a little.

He felt stupid for panicking over possibilities, for panicking at all. But he didn't think Ian noticed, so it wasn't the end of the fucking world or anything like that. "Oh?" he asked, sitting down in what had become his usual chair beside the bed. Of course when the whole bloody Gallagher clan arrived every evening he always had to move onto the bed, but it was an excuse to be closer to Ian, so he only pretended like it pissed him off.

Ian didn't say anything, but held up one of his arms. It actually took Mickey a moment to realise what was so different about it. The expanse of pale skin probably should have been a bit of a clue, but it still took him a minute.

"Fuck, Gallagher, your arm's thin," Mickey commented even though it really wasn't that bad, because he didn't know words to explain why the sight of the castles arm relieved him so much. It was just thinner than it had been before, but he thought the fact he looked frail was probably just in his imagination. "You look like I could snap you with two fucking fingers." He had to force himself to stop thinking about the time he'd come out of Juvie to find that Ian was no longer the little kid he had to worry about hurting when they fucked. He'd grown up, bulked up and had looked fucking hot. He still looked hot, but it wasn't quite the same.

"Oh okay, sorry," he said sarcastically, "I'll just pop down to the gym tomorrow or something, bulk up a little."

"Good idea, you really should."

Ian rolled his eyes. "What was it you wanted to tell me anyway?" he asked, "You're  _news_."

Ignoring Ian's tone simply because he was still too pleased with himself, he flashed Ian a proper smile.

"I got a job," he said proudly, his fingers playing with the blanket on Ian's bed. He didn't know why he felt nervous, it was fucking stupid, but for some reason he wanted Ian's approval about the new job.

He frowned, then smiled and it was so beautiful Mickey hated it, but adored it at the same time. "Where?" he asked, his hand inching towards Mickey's across the bed. Mickey watched its progress, a small smile tilting up the corner of his mouth ever so slightly.

"Here," he replied, "It's only cleaning floors and bathrooms and shit, but it pays more than the Kash and Grab and it means I don't have to travel around after work to get here or anything." It was only because of the nurse, Lizzie, who'd walked in on them kissing that one time. She'd felt sort of bad practically outing Mickey to his sister and had pulled some strings to get him a job. He was actually sort of touched and more than a little bit grateful, but he'd just grunted a thank you at her and she hadn't seemed to have taken any offense at his gruffness.

Mickey wasn't good at being elaborate or any shit like that.

Ian grinned and laced his fingers through Mickey's. Mickey didn't stop him even though the contact actually scared him a little. He wasn't used to intimate stuff like that, he thought it was girly and had always seen it as pointless, but it was hard to truly hate anything when Gallagher was involved.

"I thought you said you didn't do cleaning up after people?" he queried after a moment, his smile gaining a hint of sarcasm that Mickey so hardly ever saw anymore.

He pulled a face and rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up," he retorted, "As I said it pays better and you know why I couldn't turn it down." Mickey could see in Firecrotch's eyes that he knew. He knew Mickey was doing this for him, so that he could spend more time at the hospital, so that he could pop in on Ian randomly during the day. So that Ian wouldn't really ever have to be alone.

Ian smiled, "Yeah I do."

They sat in silence for a minute before Ian gave Mickey a look that actually made his heart trip in his chest. "I'm really proud of you, Mick," he said, their eyes meeting, "You do know that, don't you?"

Mickey just nodded his head numbly, because the truth was that no he hadn't known that. Nobody had ever been proud of him, he hadn't ever felt like he needed anybody to be proud of him. Mickey was a fuck-up. Always had been, probably always would be. But it wasn't completely his fault, sure he didn't help situations sometimes, but life had just dealt him a bad hand and he was surviving, so that was all that counted.

But he got this weird feeling in his stomach when Ian looked at him like that and what confused him was that it wasn't a bad feeling. Sure, it confused the hell out of him, but that still didn't make it bad.

It was all he could do to keep the stupid smile from appearing on his face. He felt like grinning like a fool, but of course he didn't. That was something Firecrotch did, not him. Mickey didn't do smiling, not massively. He wasn't sure he knew how.

He squeezed Ian's fingers because he didn't know what to say and he didn't completely trust his words on that subject. So when he did speak, it was to express a random thought that had popped into his head, "You do realise we can't play hangman on your cast anymore right?"

Ian snorted softly. "Mick, both of my legs are in cast and there's such a thing as paper, you know."

"Paper's for pussies," he replied, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth and smiling mischievously when Ian's eyes followed the action and his own tongue then wet his lips, "And I'd fucking like to see you try and bend to play hangman on your foot."

There were too many metal things in the way and Mickey had always doodled on the cast at the top of his legs.

"I bet you would," Ian's smile was wicked, the look in his eyes dirty and Mickey could feel himself growing hard. Especially when Ian licked his lips again.

"Shut up Gallagher," he muttered, hating that he was actually blushing.

They skirted over some other topics, minor topics, but Mickey couldn't help but notice that Ian was watching him quite intently all of a sudden. Mickey knew that look, it was the look that meant Ian was trying to work out how to phrase something he really wanted to say. He hated how he knew what Gallagher's looks meant now. He really was turning into some sort of pussy; and all because of this redhead in front of him.

"What?" Mickey asked, maybe a little harshly, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to like what was going through Ian's mind. That he wouldn't want to hear what the red-head wanted to say.

"I really don't know what I'd do without you, Mickey," he admitted, his wide eyes staring up at Mickey like he expected anger, but for some reason, Mickey couldn't feel that usual sick feeling in his gut. Not this time.

"Fuck Gallagher, I thought I was the thief here," he muttered, his thumb skimming over the back of Ian's knuckles. He didn't want to be holding his hand, but he couldn't quite bring himself to break the contact. Because not so deep down, he did want to be holding that hand more than he knew he hated doing so.

Ian frowned, "That's relevant how?"

Mickey sighed, he couldn't stop himself. "Because you're kinda stealing everything I've got when you look at me like that," he admitted and then winced, his features pulling into a scowl, "Shit that's gay, ignore I just said that,  _fuck_."

He couldn't believe he'd just said that, but it wasn't like he could take it back now.  _Just shoot me now, before I turn into a complete fag, fuck_ , Mickey thought to himself, but the wide, beaming way that Ian was grinning at him almost made him feel better about him forgetting to pretend like he didn't give a shit. Almost. "I always knew you were mushy on the inside," he said, prodding Mickey in the stomach and only making his scowl deepen.

"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher," he said, but without much conviction.

Ian just laughed.

That night Mickey stared at Ian while he slept. He knew it sounded creepy, knew it probably was creepy, but he just couldn't tear his eyes away from the sleeping redhead. His family had been earlier and they had been as loud and as annoying as always. Except maybe Lip, he hadn't been so bad. He'd even tried to engage Mickey in something close to a conversation. The others just ignored he was there, although he had a feeling that was because the younger ones were scared of him.

He sort of liked the fact that they were.

It made him feel better about being sappy enough to even be there in the first place. Not that he would have been anywhere else for anything in the world.

Fiona still glared at him like she would happily have his head on a plate and he was starting to understand that her hatred of him was born out of both not understanding why he was there and simply needing something to hate for Ian's condition. She was worried about the hospital bills, knew they'd be paying them off for a long time even though he knew her boyfriend Steve – or Jimmy, he had no clue, but Ian had mentioned something about Steve not being his really name – was helping out considerably.

Sometimes he entertained thoughts along the lines of, if she was nicer to him he'd let her in on the fact that he was giving Lip part of his wages to help cover the bills. Not even Ian knew that Mickey was doing that and Lip was smart enough not to comment whenever Mickey handed over the money. If Mickey could have his way, not even Lip would know about the fact he was helping out, but that was sort of impossible. Lip didn't judge him for it though, didn't expect anything out of it or anything stupid like that, he just sort of understood that Mickey wanted to help but didn't have the courage to admit that he was doing so.

Of course, even if Fiona was nicer to him, it wouldn't mean he would tell her, he still wouldn't admit to it. But it was just something to think about when she was shooting him particularly venomous looks some evenings.

He didn't even want to tell Ian, because even though Firecrotch would understand, Mickey didn't feel like he did himself. All he knew was that he couldn't stop himself from feeling partly responsible for Ian. It was stupid, but he didn't care. It was his way of doing something productive when it came to the redhead. He knew he was being productive just by being there, that he was helping Ian out that way, but it sometimes didn't feel like enough.

He just watched Ian sleep and wondered how the hell he'd wound up with a Gallagher of all people as his problem. And that wasn't even the right way to phrase it, because there wasn't one thing about Ian that was actually a problem. Sure, maybe the fact that Mickey felt like he was some sort of parasite that had buried himself under his skin and refused to leave made him a problem, but it was a good sort of problem. Mickey hated that he even liked having Ian under his skin, hated that he knew how lost he would feel if he ever did actually succeed in shaking Gallagher loose.

He'd almost succeeded once, when he'd gone to Juvie that second time after trying to kill Frank. It had felt like he was suffocating with Ian, but he had been drowning without him. It had felt like he was burning, like something was eating him from the inside out and all because he'd told Ian that he was nothing but a warm mouth.

He hadn't known if Ian had believed him, but the fact Gallagher hadn't come to visit him when he was in Juvie that second time had sort of confirmed that he did hate him regardless. And that was why Mickey had swallowed his pride, had stopped panicking for long enough to track down Gallagher and he didn't apologise, Mickey didn't do apologies, but he knew Ian had seen the words in his eyes regardless. No, he hadn't apologised, he'd just pushed Ian instead the store room and sucked him off for all he was worth.

He figured that had been better than an apology.

Afterwards, he'd pretended like he still didn't give two shits about Gallagher either way, but they'd both known that wasn't really true after what had happened with Frank. Things had returned to like they were, but they had been different as well. And Mickey had told himself that it didn't matter, because he didn't feel like he was drowning or burning or any of that other shit anymore. He didn't even feel like he was suffocating, not that time round.

It had been different, it had been better and then Ian had ended up in the hospital and it had felt like Mickey was drowning again. It still felt like he was drowning sometimes when he looked at Ian's injuries or thought about what had happened to him, but he saw that Ian was suffocating at the same time and knew that if they had to run out of air, they could do that together. They  _would_  do that together.

Even if he fucking hated himself for knowing he felt like that.

In his sleep, Ian sighed ever so slightly and breathed Mickey's name out from between his parted lips. Edging closer, Mickey slid his fingers thought Ian's again and when he shut his eyes, Mickey imagined he could feel Ian's heartbeat through that connection. He pretended, at least to himself, that doing something as simple as holding Gallagher's hand would be enough to chase away the pain in his eyes.

Sometimes all Mickey ever could really do was pretend. He felt like it helped keep him sane.


	7. Chapter 7

Fiona was sitting by his bed, chewing her lip and Ian knew she wanted to say something. He knew what it was going to be about. He had even been expecting it. But he still wished she would just keep her mouth shut for longer. Hopefully indefinitely.

He didn't want her to ruin this.

"I don't like him always hanging around here," she said eventually, making it sound like a confession, like it was completely out of the blue. And he loved his sister, he owed her almost everything and he knew she was just worrying about him, but Ian still sighed and looked at her, annoyed. "And I know you like having him around for some reason, but he's a Milkovich and I can't help thinking that he's trying to get something out of this."

Ian didn't know what anybody could possibly get from this situation, but he didn't say that. He figured that Fiona could probably see his thoughts on the matte well enough from the expression on his face. "You don't know him," he said bluntly, "And I want him here."

He didn't know what he'd do if Mickey wasn't here.

She sighed, like she'd known full well that would be his answer.  _If you knew I was going to say that, why are we having this conversation at all?_  he wondered, but it was pointless to say that and Fiona was doing so much for him, had done so much for him. It wasn't fair to be rude to her. Even if she was being stupid.

"I know you do," she said, "I'm just afraid that you're becoming a little too dependent on him."

"Yeah, I am," he replied simply, because there was no point in denying it. Mickey was the one out of the two of them that was good to lying to the world, to all of his family and it wasn't like Ian didn't understand, it was just that he wasn't quite capable of being like that. He already felt like he owed Fiona so much simply for not trusting her for so long with the information he was gay – of course she'd known anyway, but that wasn't the point. He still felt like he'd betrayed her somehow by now confiding in her sooner.

The only problem was that when it came to Mickey, they weren't just his secrets to confide.

"I just don't understand, Ian," she said, sounding exasperated and in a way he found it understandable, but it still annoyed him, "Of all people, why be dependent on Mickey? He doesn't exactly have a very good track record of. . .  _anything_."

And no, Ian couldn't deny that. Mickey wasn't the nicest person in the world, he had a strange aversion to being clean, didn't like people getting anywhere close to his personal space let alone in it. He was violent, unpredictable, rude, swore far too much and his gut reaction when backed into a corner was to fight his way out of it, no matter who he hated.

But underneath all of that, there was someone who cared. He gave a shit about some things. Not many things, but some things. And if he gave a shit, people should probably steer clear of those things for fear of getting their head bashed in. Mickey wasn't charming or lovely and he wasn't the sort of person you fell in love with, or even wanted to spend all that much time with, but Ian found that the unpredictability of the situations he found himself in because of Mickey were endearing. If you could get him to talk, he was actually a laugh and if you got him high, then he was downright chatty sometimes.

Ian felt like he knew him, but that wasn't why he clung to Mickey with such determination.

He clung on because out of everybody, Mickey was the one who never expected anything from him. He wanted Ian to keep his mouth shut about them, but he didn't ask Ian to change in anyway. He'd take the piss sometimes, express his displeasure for some things Ian wore or what he said, but he never seemed to expect him to stop. Mickey just took him as he was and sure, that was probably because Mickey didn't give have any desire to change himself, so why should he expect anything from anybody else. Ian sort of liked how true Mickey was to himself, but that was easy to do when the majority of the neighbourhood was scared of you.

Sometimes it was hard for him to really peg down why he liked Mickey so much. Why he loved him, but would never admit to it because the ex-con would probably gut him like a fish if he did. Some days, he just put it down to the fact that Mickey was a damn good fuck and left it at that.

Ian just shrugged again, pleased when the action didn't hurt like it used to. His ribs were mostly healed up now. "You don't know him," he repeated adamantly, wondering if anybody actually knew Mickey. If Mickey even knew Mickey. "And does anybody in our neighbourhood have a good track record?"

The answer was no and they both knew it. You did what you had to survive around where they lived, otherwise you just got left behind in the dirt. Not that anybody was actually going  _anywhere_. Ian had used to think he was going somewhere, that he was getting out, but that wasn't happening now. Thinking about that made him want to cry, but he didn't, he swallowed the pain down.

"That's not the point," she said, glaring at him slightly, but there wasn't any real anger or any real emotion behind it really, "Mickey's not a good person to have around, he's like a bomb waiting to go off and you know it. I just don't understand why he's here."

Of course she didn't, but Ian wasn't exactly going to enlighten her.

He  _couldn't_  enlighten her.

"Fiona, don't make him leave," he knew he sounded whiney, like he was practically begging. And maybe he was. "I  _need_  him here, you can't make him leave." He could just feel the darkness inside his own mind starting to creep up on him again, but he pushed back with all he had. He didn't want to go back there again, the darkness made him numb, but at the same time it made him scream and want to literally try and claw the memories out of his own brain.

"Trust me I've tried to make him leave and it isn't that easy," she replied, looking at him sadly, "But I'm just worried that you're starting to depend on him too much and when he decides he's bored or whatever little scheme he's working on comes to an end, he'll get up and leave you." She sighed, "I just don't want to see you get worse now that you're getting better."

"I'm only getting better because of him," he said before he could stop himself, "Mickey makes me feel better, he takes my mind off everything else and there isn't any scheme going on and sure, maybe one day he will get bored, but I'll find a way to cope."

She didn't look like she was so sure he would be able to, but he didn't comment.

"Just remember that the kid's a fuck up," she said and he couldn't help but find her words especially harsh, "He's not worth falling for." And that was when he saw why she was really so concerned. It wasn't so much that she didn't understand why Mickey was hanging around, it was just that she did understand why Ian was letting him stay. Out of the two of them, Ian had always been the one to make his feelings so much more obvious. He didn't know how he felt about Mickey being able to hide them so well.

He was jealous at the same time as being disappointed, it was strange.

"He's no more of a fuck-up than I am," Ian said and he hoped his tone carried the conviction that he felt, "Difference is, he doesn't try to hide it." Sometimes, Ian thought that Mickey was even a little bit proud of being a fuck-up. But then other days, he chalked that up to Mickey not ever knowing how to be anything else.

Fiona shrugged, seeming to have withdrawn inside of herself a little, "He's nothing like you Ian."

And was he going mad, or was there a message in that? Something she was trying to say without really coming out and saying it?

He resisted the urge to say that Mickey was a lot more like him that she or anybody else realised.

Mickey walked into the room then and Ian wondered how much he had heard. It was like a curtain had fallen behind Mickey's eyes and his expression was blank so Ian couldn't tell. He was guessing he'd heard something though, or at least enough, otherwise he wouldn't have looked like that. Otherwise he probably would have already been making some stupid, crude comment.

"Nice boiler suit," he commented to try and break the tension, ignoring the pointed glares that Fiona was giving Mickey.

Mickey was dressed up in a dark blue boiler suit, his hands pushed deep into the pockets. "Shut up," he said, literally throwing himself down into the chair beside the bed. He kicked his feet up onto the mattress and seemed to relax a little bit. "Reminds me of Juvie."

The dress was a little the same now Ian came to think about it.

"Of course, you'd know all about being in there, wouldn't you Mickey?" Fiona asked, not even trying to hide her snide tone. Ian thought he hated her a little bit in that moment, but only a little bit. He was more disappointed in her. "How many times is it you've been in there now, three, four times?"

Mickey didn't react, which Ian thought was a miracle. "Two," he replied and then looked away from her, back at Ian, "There's this bloke down the hall from you with blisters all over his face, he looks fucking disgusting."

Ian couldn't help but smile at the random comment. Since he'd started working at the hospital it had become Mickey's favourite hobby to pop in and inform Ian of what disgusting patient he'd found that day. It made Ian wish he could get out of the bed to go see these people Mickey talked about, but with all of the metal contraptions holding his kneecaps together while they healed, it wasn't really possible.

His ass had gone way past the point of being numb.

"Lovely," he replied, pulling a face which made Mickey smirked. He smirked more than smiled generally, but Ian had started to take them as meaning one and the same thing. "Kind of makes me think of that Coach we had for baseball that year you pissed on first base, the one with the massive mole on his face."

Mickey grimaced. "That this had fucking hairs on it," he said, shuddering slightly at the memory, "And before you comment, I had every right to piss on that base, the call was complete bollocks." He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped back in the chair slightly.

Ian rolled his eyes. "No, you just over-reacted," he replied, "I was there remember, you can't twist what happened."

He could still remember what it was like to be on the same baseball team as Mickey Milkovich. It had been the first time he'd really noticed the other boy, which didn't make sense to him when he thought about it because Mickey wasn't the sort of person you overlooked. Even back then he'd been full of foul language, prone to violent reactions and he'd probably threatened every single person on both their team and the opposition's with bodily harm.

"Why the hell were you on the team anyway?" he asked when Mickey didn't respond, but then he hadn't really expected him to, "You hate sports." Which was actually a bit of an understatement. Mickey despised playing sports and only just tolerated sitting through a baseball game. Although when he did – and Ian had been with him a few times – he almost got them kicked out for swearing at the players and getting into arguments with the crowd.

No day out with Mickey was a simple one. Not that they'd ever really had many days out. Their meetings had usually consisted of getting high or drunk somewhere where nobody could see them and then fucking until they both passed out. And yet there were the rare occasions when Ian could coax the ex-con into doing something like sneaking into a Sox game or a movie and it would be better than Ian could ever imagine.

Mickey shrugged. "Nicky said I had to be a fag because I spent too much time with Mandy and didn't do things other lads did," he said after a moment, his tone clipped, "So I joined a fucking baseball team."

Ian ignored the outraged look that Fiona was giving Mickey and rolled his eyes. "It probably would have made you look more masculine if you'd actually been any good at the sport," he commented.

"Fuck you," Mickey replied, glaring at him as he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip.

Ian loved it when he did that, he didn't quite know why. He followed the action with his eyes and Mickey smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"Do you want to know what's fucking killing me more than anything else?" Ian asked when the silence stretched out for a little longer than he liked. He was used to a noisy household, he wasn't good with the whole silence thing. He thought that was probably why he had such a problem at night, the hospital was always too quiet.

Of course, Mickey's snoring helped a lot. Sort of reminded him of Carl, only better.

"What?" Mickey didn't really look like he cared, but Ian knew that was just a façade.

"I haven't been able to have a smoke or a drink in fucking weeks," he said, chewing his bottom lip. The addiction of the nicotine in his veins was practically eating at him and sometimes he just wished he could get smashed to drown out the memories. Of course, he couldn't do anything of the sort, all he could do was lie there doped up on painkillers.

Mickey laughed at him, the sound almost cruel, but Ian knew that was the only way that Mickey knew how to laugh. He didn't laugh often, Ian liked it when he did, no matter what it sounded like. He still savoured the sound.

"Might go have one for you then," he said, pulling out a packet from his pocket even as he stood.

Ian glared at him, "You're a dick, you do know that right."

"Your point?"

He snorted, "Haven't got one."

"Didn't think so," Mickey replied moving towards the door.

"Get me some chocolate."

"Fuck off."

They both knew he'd get Ian the chocolate, no matter what he said on the contrary.

Ian smiled as he watched Mickey saunter out of the room, but it fell from his face when Fiona followed the ex-con out. That wasn't good news, but there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do about it from a hospital bed, wasn't like he could chase after his sister and stop her.

Besides, Mickey was a big boy, he could handle it. Ian hoped.


	8. Chapter 8

Mickey couldn't stop Fiona's words swirling around his brain.

Sure, most of what she said was true. He was a fuck-up. He never denied that. But it still pissed him off that she'd say that to Ian. Like Firecrotch didn't know well enough on his own about all of Mickey's issues. He probably knew better than most actually.

Somehow though, it annoyed him more that Ian had actually defended him. He didn't need people defending him, he didn't like people defending him, he was perfectly capable of sticking up for himself. If felt like Ian was just throwing everything Mickey had previously decided to be facts of life right out the window. He didn't know how to let people be nice to him, didn't know how to listen to them defend him, didn't know how not to hate it.

Of course, he got that strange feeling in his stomach again when Ian did defend him, but that only contributed to him hating it really. Mickey was all for self-teaching, but he didn't know how to teach himself about stuff like this. He was well and truly out of his comfort zone and it was sort of making him panic inside.

"We've had this conversation before," Mickey said, leaning against the wall just outside the hospital, a lit cigarette already trapped between his fingers, "Not much fucking point having it again, is there?"

Fiona stood beside him, looking worried and wound up all at the same time. "Why are you here?" she asked, yet again, like she always asked him.

"So I can have a smoke," he replied, taking a long drag and blowing smoke in her face, "They won't let you do it inside anymore, thought you knew that."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but he wasn't scared of her. She could yell at him all she wanted, she could make thousands of snide comments, could even complain about him to the hospital staff, but it wasn't going to do jack shit. He was too used to his Dad yelling at him, had grown up with snide comments practically being all there was in a conversation and the nurses were too scared of Ian screaming to ask him to leave.

So really, she was just wasting her breath.

"I'm not going to let you break his heart," she said, the words ground out through clenched teeth, "I know you can fucking see how he looks at you, you know what I'm talking about."

"Trust me, I've tried that," he told her, "He just comes right back like a fucking boomerang or something." He wondered if he was even possible anymore for him to break Ian's heart. Especially when Ian knew Mickey didn't even want to. He'd stopped trying after he'd come out of Juvie that second time, he'd stopped trying to put the distance between them.

If he'd wanted distance, he shouldn't have fucked Gallagher the first time and definitely not the second. The second had just been asking for trouble, had just been asking for all of this.

"So why the hell are you hanging around?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, obviously not liking his way of phrasing Ian's persistence, "Just leave now, it doesn't even made sense that your sticking around."

"I'm not fucking going anywhere," he replied, feeling his own anger rising inside of him and not even wanting to stamp it down. He finished his first cigarette and lit another. "Yeah, I'm a fuck-up, but there's no way in hell I'm getting bored of this."

The Gallagher family had more drama that a bloody circus and it was actually mildly entertaining. But on top of that, even though he'd never admit it, he'd rather chew his own arm off rather than leave Ian.

"I'll go, when Firecrotch tells me to," he said and then grinned, slowly, deliberately and he knew the expression was cruel, "And we both know that isn't going to fucking happen." He wished he was really as confident about that as he knew he sounded, but he wasn't going to let her know that.

He didn't even see the punch coming, not before her fist connected with his jaw. Secretly, he was a little bit impressed that she could actually pack a punch, didn't do any of that girly slapping; but then she was a Gallagher. He bit down painfully on his lip without meaning to, splitting it and he spat blood out onto the floor as he glared at her. "He gets hurt," she said firmly, "I'll kill you."

_He gets hurt, I'll kill myself._

He hated that he knew he would.

"Whatever," he replied, flicking away the rest of his cigarette that had pretty much burnt out in his hand, "You don't know anything." Because she didn't, she was completely in the dark and that was what pissed her off so much.

He pushed past her, back into the hospital, digging his hands into his pockets and pulling out the loose change there. He stopped by the shop for the chocolate Ian wanted, not bothering with coffee this time.

He rubbed at the cut on his lip as he jogged back up two floors, nodding at the nurse, Lizzie as she was coming out of Ian's room. She caught his arm to stop him from going in and he glared at her. He'd punched people for less and it didn't help that he was in a foul mood now.

"You okay?" she asked, noticing his lip.

He didn't answer, because he didn't need people babying him. He wasn't a child, he was a Milkovich. "What d'ya want?"

She was getting good at ignoring his mood, just continued smiling at him like he was the loveliest fucking person in the world. Which he wasn't, obviously. "We're going to take Ian down to X-ray tomorrow," she told him, "We want to check how his knees are heeling, you think you could be here to keep him calm?"

Mickey hated that his first thought was how much Ian was going to enjoy the opportunity to get out of that bed. "Yeah, whatever, I'll be there," he replied gruffly, annoyed because he knew she knew she didn't even have to ask. He didn't like that he was becoming predictable, but he couldn't change that fact even if he tried.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried to stop himself giving a shit about Gallagher before, it just didn't quite seem to be possible. The redhead was like a leech, just one he couldn't quite shake off no matter how hard he tried.

Mandy was there when he came in, drawing on Ian's arm with a pen. She grinned at him when she saw him, which was annoying. "What the fuck you doing here?" he asked, throwing the chocolate at Ian as he fell into his usual chair.

"Visiting my boyfriend," she replied, "What's your excuse?"

"Got nothing better to be doing," he said and Mandy snorted, seeing right through that one.

Ian reached out towards his face, touching the fresh cut on his lip. "Mick, what happened to your face?" he asked and his concern made Mickey flinch. He cringed away from Ian's touch, leaning back further into his chair so that the redhead couldn't reach him.

"What the fuck do you think happened?" he retorted, still pissed off and hating that he was sort of taking it out on Ian, but he couldn't help it and Firecrotch didn't seem all that bothered, "It's not like it's a big deal anyway, you've given me worse."

The only difference was that Mickey actually enjoyed it when Ian bruised him, when he bit into him and drew blood. The bruise under Ian's jaw was almost completely gone now. Mickey had already remade it several times, he was going to have to do it again. He liked seeing it there, liked seeing that mark, the indentation of his teeth.

"You been walking into walls again?" Mandy asked, still drawing on Ian's arm.

"Fuck off, I did that once," he replied.

She just rolled his eyes. "You can tell you haven't got laid in a while," she muttered, but loud enough that they could all hear her clearly, "You're so fucking pissy when you're horny." He thought it was weird that his sister would know that, he thought it was even weirder that she was actually right.

"In case you didn't notice, but my fuck-buddy isn't really available at the moment," he replied, waving a vague hand at Ian, "And I'm spending all my time in this fucking hospital, so what do you want me to get done for public exposure or some shit?"

They both looked at him in what he assumed was surprise.

"See, I told you he wasn't fucking anybody else," Mandy said eventually, looking at Ian, who blushed.

Mickey stared at his redhead, who at this point was refusing to look at him. He hadn't thought that Ian would wonder about something like that, but then he'd thought that Ian was actually smarter than that, had more common sense.

"Well when the hell would I have the chance?" he asked, refusing to comment on Ian's insecurities directly, but he could tell they were both waiting for him to say something, "I'm always here, aren't I?"

Even if he had wanted to fuck somebody else, he wouldn't have had the time. He was either working or at the hospital, which was now one and the same thing. So basically he was always at the hospital. It pissed him off that he knew he didn't even  _want_  to fuck anybody else even if he could. He just wanted Gallagher to heal so that they could fuck.

Ian looked at him nervously, "You know, you can, um. . . I mean I'd understand if you wanted to. . ."

Mickey groaned, "Gallagher, we're not having this fucking conversation."

If they had that conversation he was going to have to admit to things that he didn't want to admit it. And it wasn't like they were bad things, not for Gallagher. It was more like he would have to admit to the fact that he didn't want to fuck anybody else and then Ian was going to look at him in that stupid girly way he sometimes did and Mickey was going to want to hit him.

"That means he only wants to fuck you," Mandy said, smirking up at him.

Ian blushed again, the splash of red across his cheekbones actually making him look hot, which Mickey thought was a fucking stupid thing to think.

Mickey looked away from them both, choosing not to comment as he started chewing the side of his thumb. He spat the piece of dried skin he pulled off with his teeth onto the floor. "Your fucking disgusting," Mandy said and the tension seemed to slide out of the room.

"Get the fuck over it," he retorted, "You already knew that."

He swiped the packet of gum off the side of Ian's beside cabinet and shoved a piece into his mouth. The sound of his chewing was loud in the room, but was soon covered up by Mandy and Ian's idle chatter. She was filling him in on all the gossip from school and that was when Mickey tuned out. He didn't need to hear that.

After a few minutes of blocking out their pointless chit-chat he swiped the PSP that had been left on the table beside Ian's bed. He figured Lip had swiped it from somewhere because it wasn't the sort of thing that the Gallaghers were going to splash out on. Not when they had Ian's hospital bills to worry about.

Mickey didn't know what the game was, but it involved killing things so he didn't really give a shit. Mindless, violence seemed to be a good way of killing his foul mood, even if it was just on a video game. He even thought it was working as well. . . until Frank walked into the room.

Frank didn't stop by very often, maybe because Ian always made it clear he didn't actually want his father – uncle? – near him. It was maybe out of some sort of duty, or no doubt some guilt-tripping from Fiona that made him stop by once a week.

"What do you want, Frank?" Ian glared at him, ice dripping from his voice.

He was like a completely different person whenever Frank was in the room and Mickey wasn't sure if he liked it. Then again, he sometimes thought Ian should count himself at least a little bit lucky. Mickey's dad wouldn't be caught dead coming anywhere near him if he was in hospital, certainly hadn't come to visit when he was in Juvie. His Dad just saw Mickey as that waste of space that had somehow been essential in order to get his precious baby girl.

Mickey wasn't bitter about that at all, he wasn't even slightly bothered, it just pissed him off.

Frank seemed to flinch away from Mickey's stare a little, because unlike the majority of the Gallagher family, he actually knew about why Mickey was here. Mickey was sort of amazed he hadn't blabbed. He still wanted to kill him to shut him up, you know, just in case, but every time he thought about that he couldn't get the image of Ian's wide, almost crying eyes out of his brain.

"Can't I just come see how you're doing?" he asked and Mickey could smell the alcohol on his breath even from this distance. He scowled and considered getting up from his chair and forcing Frank from the room, but Ian hadn't expressly asked him to leave yet and he didn't want to come across as actually being concerned about that sort of shit or anything. So he just stayed where he was.

"Not really," Ian replied, his gaze unwavering. There was a few minutes of silence in which Mickey feigned interest in his game but really his attention wasn't on it at all. "If I tell you I'm fine, will you leave?" Ian asked.

Frank's features mushed together into a slightly drunken scowl, "Don't use that tone with me."

"He can use whatever tone he likes," Mickey said before he could stop himself, "Or have you got a problem with that?" He met the older man's gaze and could feel his lips twisting into an automatic sneer.

There was a long few seconds before Frank said anything, before he blinked and looked away from Mickey quickly. "You know what, I don't think it's such a bad tone after all," he commented, glancing at Ian like Mickey was some sort of pitbull he expected his son – nephew? – to be able to rein in.

"Did you want something else, Frank?" Mickey asked, loving how the mess of a man squirmed under his stare. He still couldn't quite work out how the hell a failure like Frank was even mildly related to Ian. They were world apart. But then Ian was worlds apart from everybody else, because he actually didn't piss Mickey off. Not much anyway.

Frank sighed, his entire body seeming to sag. "Fiona wanted me to try and make you leave," he admitted.

"You even going to try?"

He was starting to understand why Frank was drunk now, or tipsy at the very least. The phrase liquid courage seemed to fit. Not that there was anything even mildly courageous about Frank Gallagher.

"No."

Mickey smiled, slowly and cruelly, watching the man in front of him shudder. "Good decision," he said and then with a last stare looked back down at his game. There were the distinctive sounds of Frank exiting the room a few seconds later.

Unfortunately, the foul, boozy smell didn't go with him.

Ian met his eyes and his thanks were written all over his face, but he didn't say anything, because there wasn't anything that needed to be said.

"So," Mandy said, an evil smile spreading across her glossed up lips, "How's the janitor life, Mick?"

He scowled at her. "Better than the whore one, no doubt," he retorted and she flipped him off. Between them, Ian just sat rolling his eyes.

A few of the other Gallagher's stopped by just after Mandy left and Mickey would have retreated from the room almost instantly if he hated noticed Ian's especially twitchy mood. He suspected it had something to do with how he was actually going to be leaving the bed tomorrow, even if it was only for a short amount of time to go get an X-ray. It was still leaving the place that had become familiar to him.

Mickey was sort of dreading the moment Ian could step foot outside the hospital as much as he was looking forwards to it. He found it understandable of course, but the only problem was, Mickey couldn't as obviously comfort Ian out there as he could in the confines of this hospital. Not that he felt entirely comfortable comforting him here if he was being honest, but it would only be worse where anybody could see them.

"Ian said you got a job here, didn't quite believe him," Lip said, sitting down in a chair next to Mickey, bouncing the smallest rugrat on his knee – the one that Mickey still couldn't work out quite how Frank was the father of, but Ian had said something about them having done a DNA test, so he supposed he didn't have to understand it. He didn't particularly care as it was anyway, the family were already so dysfunctional one more strange thing wasn't going to make that much of a difference.

In his own mind, he thought that was the reason they'd been quite so accepting of Ian being gay.

"Yeah well, the nurse felt like she owed me," he replied, wishing he had the game to concentrate on, but the little sociopath – Kyle, Carl. . . whatever – had snagged it off him as soon as he'd walked into the room. And Mickey hadn't argued because out of all the Gallaghers, that one was the one who freaked him out the most. Well, maybe freaked out was putting it strongly, but the kid unnerved Mickey that was for sure.

"Why?" Lip asked.

Mickey didn't answer that, there were too many people in the room and even if they hadn't been, he wasn't comfortable with the fact Lip knew about him. He wasn't comfortable with the fact  _anybody_  knew about him, but the fact Ian had willingly told Lip somehow made it a little worse. The guy had been good at keeping his mouth shut so far though and Mickey half trusted him. They'd been friends once, before Mickey had decided that actually, he couldn't be bothered with the hassle of friends. That was what he'd told everybody, but in reality it had been that he'd been terrified of anybody thinking he was too close to Lip and calling him a fag. Even when he was younger he knew not to let anybody call him that, to prevent it at all costs.

Him and Lip hadn't been that close anyway, so it hadn't mattered too much not to hang out with him anymore. Of course, it had meant he then had to pay to get essays written for him, but there were downsides to everything and as they went, that one was only minor.

"Okay then, whatever," Lip said, not seeming to have expected Mickey to have said anything anyway, "What's it like sleeping here by the way, haven't asked you that yet?"

Mickey didn't know why Lip was even bothering to try and make conversation with him, certainly didn't know why he was bothering to reply. Normally he wouldn't have, but he had already pissed off one of Ian's siblings enough today, he might as well try and be civil to one. Not like he had anything better to be doing anyway and the way Ian was smiling at him when he saw he was talking to Lip was fucking stupid and amazing all at the same time.

"Quiet," Mickey said vaguely, which was really the only thing he could think of on the matter. Like Ian, he was used to a noisy household, his Dad yelling at something, or passed out and snoring, the TV constantly on, Mandy singing along badly to music or swearing down the phone at someone. There was always just this constant drone of noise and in the hospital, everything just seemed dead in comparison. "Except when he screams."

"He scream very often?" Lip's expression was concerned, but then he always did worry about Ian more than was probably good for either of them. Mickey could remember when they'd fallen out, fruit being splattered all over the floor of the Kash and Grab. He hadn't known how to or had much desire to comfort Ian then, he'd just fucking him in the store room to take his mind off his family problems. It seemed to have worked well enough as far as he was concerned, they were talking again after all. He'd always said they were too close, had said that when he and Lip had been friends and said it now. But maybe he only thought that because out of his siblings, only Mandy even gave half a shit about him.

Mickey shrugged, picking at the corner of his mouth. As usual his lips were dry and chapped, the cold outside only made it worse. He saw Ian's gaze focus on his mouth the moment he started picking at it and smirked, licking his lips. "Not really," he told Lip after a moment, "Which is good, because it's a fucking annoying sound."

Lip didn't look surprised that that was the only thing Mickey had to say on the matter. He just looked relieved that his brother wasn't screaming the place down every night and needing to be sedated. Apparently, before Mickey had started spending the nights here, that was what had happened.

"What the hell happened to your face anyway?" he asked, motioning to Mickey's rapidly fattening lip.

"None of your fucking business."

Lip rolled his eyes, "Well okay, then no need to be rude about it," he muttered, even though he a) had seemed to expect that reaction and b) didn't actually seem to care how Mickey reacted. "I need to piss," he said suddenly, standing up, "Hold him for a minute."

And before Mickey could argue, he had the youngest rugrat thrust into his face. The kid latched onto his hair and Mickey held onto its middle nervously, like it was toxic or something. He'd never actually held a kid. Nobody was stupid enough to trust him with one. The brat was heavier than he expected, sort of sturdy and it had a bloody death grip on his hair, which was annoying. If it had been anyone else he would have thrown them across the room, but even Mickey had some standards and it was a bloody toddler.

 _It's not intentionally trying to be a little shit_ , he reminded himself quickly, narrowing his eyes at the kid. He didn't even know its name.  _Besides, it hasn't even had a chance to piss you off yet_.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ian watching and when Mickey scowled at the kid, he burst out laughing. "I'm glad someone's fucking enjoying this," he muttered, gingerly adjusting the way he was holding the kid when it squirmed.

The small hands that grabbed at his face were sticky and he cringed, wondering if people would look at him strangely if he held it at arm's length. He really wanted to, but then he refused to be responsible for its head cracking open on the floor, so he stayed put.

"Mick, he's a kid, not a bomb," Ian pointed out, laughter still ringing through his voice.

"Might as well be," Mickey replied, glancing at him sideways, "What the fuck am I supposed to do with it?"

Ian laughed, "Lip'll be back in a minute, Jesus, you just have to hold him."

The look on the redhead's face said that this was the best entertainment he'd seen in a long time. That only made him scowl more. He wasn't sure how he felt about little kids. They annoyed him when they cried, but this one was just making a strange sort of gurgling sound and it didn't smell like most little kids seemed to. All he knew for definite was that he did  _not_  want to be holding it.

In the corner of the room, the sociopath looked up at him and smiled cruelly. Apparently, Ian was not the only one to think the scene was funny. "What the fuck you looking at?" Mickey snapped at him and he looked away quickly back to his game.

He was a sociopath, but he knew when not to push it, Mickey had to give him that.

"Why the hell is  _he_  holding Liam?"

 _Oh right, the kid's name's Liam_ , Mickey thought before he met Fiona's angry gaze. He was used to people not liking him, but she was seriously taking it to a new level.

Lip pushed past her into the room and took the brat back off him. Mickey wiped his hands on his trousers like the kid had given him something contagious. He only just resisted the urge to scrub at his face with his sleeve.

"Jesus, Fiona, relax," Lip said, flopping back down into the chair he'd previously been in, "Mickey's no angel, but it wasn't like he was going to eat Liam or anything." He looked at his sister in a sort of incredulous way, obviously thinking as Mickey did that she was overreacting. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Lip sticking up for him though.

Ian sticking up for him was hard enough to deal with, but he wasn't fucking Lip so in Mickey's mind there was a quite obvious difference. Not that he was fucking Ian so much anymore though if he thought about it, but it wasn't exactly possible with the guy held down by metal things attached to his knees.

Fiona actually looked stumped for a minute as to why Lip was vouching for Mickey, but in the end just settled for glaring at him some more. There were a few minutes of awkward silence before Lip spoke again, this time looking at his brother, "By the way Ian, Kash is back, he's been asking after you."

The way Mickey tensed wasn't lost on Ian and Mickey wanted to hit him for the way his mouth twisted into a smirk, but it would have looked suspicious, so he didn't. "He's probably just back because he's lost the people who were working for him," Ian commented, settling back into the pillows slightly, "Don't see why he'd give two shits about me either way other than for that reason."

"You know why he would," Lip said simply, which had Mickey's grip tightening on the arms of the chair.

"Well considering the way he left," Ian replied without missing a beat, or even seeming to really have to think about it, "I don't think any of that applies anymore." Mickey had heard from the redhead that Kash had stormed off and basically disappeared and even though Ian put it down to Linda stressing him out, Mickey suspected it was more to do with how Ian wasn't willing to fuck him anymore.

This was of course the moment Fiona chose to jump in, "I don't understand, what happened with Kash that I don't know about?"

Mickey took far too much joy in the fact he knew something she didn't and it probably showed on his face, because Ian reached over and hit him lightly on the shoulder. He still smirked, it was impossible to help, he had gone from hating to actually quite enjoying this topic of conversation.

"It doesn't matter," Ian said quickly.

"I think it does if you're not willing to tell me," she replied, glaring at him for once rather than Mickey, although if they gave it five minutes, she'd be back to glaring at Mickey again no doubt, "So go on, I'm all ears and I'm not leaving till you tell me."

She crossed her arms over her chest and Ian scowled.

"Ian was fucking Kash," Lip said even though nobody asked him.

Mickey elbowed him hard in the ribs for Ian's benefit, but also because he was back to hating this topic of conversation again. Ian didn't say a word, just grimaced at the wall opposite his bed and seemed to mentally shut down.

Nobody spoke for a while.

"Ian he's married," Fiona said, her brain seeming to kick back in again.

Mickey snorted, "Point out the obvious."

"And how the hell does this even concern you?" she barked at him, her tone sharp and it only seemed to piss her off more that Mickey didn't actually react in any way. He just shrugged and thought to himself, _You'd be surprised._

At this point he was actually beginning to suspect that she was going to hate him all the more when she did understand. But then he could see the logic in that. Mickey Milkovich wasn't really the person you wanted you little, now slightly more fragile than before brother to be with. Not that they were actually together, but they sort of were, it wasn't official, but it wasn't like they were seeing other people. Mickey didn't even know how to define it, wasn't sure if he even wanted to define it. He remembered Ian calling them fucking buddies once and he hadn't even been willing to admit that they were that.

"Linda knows if it makes it any better," Lip said and Mickey elbowed him again. He may think that he was doing the best thing for Ian getting it all out in the open, but Lip really needed to stop talking.

Fiona scowled. "No it doesn't," she said, but after looking at Ian's withdrawn expression sighed, "Why the hell can't you have good taste in men?"

That got a reaction, which Mickey hadn't actually expected. He'd thought Ian would just let the comment go straight over his head. He hated that he didn't and he also hated how he knew Ian was only commenting because he knew Mickey had overheard Fiona's previous comments about him. She could stick her comments where the sun didn't shine, but they obviously bothered Ian. He probably wanted Fiona's approval on everything or some stupid shit like that.

Sometimes it was like Ian's mind was all unrealistic sunshine and rainbows, it pissed Mickey off.

"I do have good taste in men," he retorted, narrowing his eyes at his sister, "Just because you think so doesn't mean the people I like are completely bad." No, Mickey was just nine tenths bad and one tenth willing to be semi-good for Ian.

"He did get with Roger Spikey," Lip said, apparently unable to stop himself commenting now. Mickey didn't even bother elbowing him, " _Donkey dick_  Roger Spikey." Mickey hadn't known that, which was why he looked at Ian in surprise. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to react at all, he just would have been pissed off within his own mind.

It was an obvious, in your face fact that both he and Ian had been with other people, but that didn't mean he had to like it being brought up. Saying that though, it would only be worse if he actually let it  _show_ that this conversation bothered him. He settled back further into his chair and kicked his feet up onto the bed.

Ian started toying with his shoelaces, like he always did. The action was strangely comforting.


	9. Chapter 9

They came to get Ian about the same time he was usually due to have lunch and Mickey almost laughed at the look of annoyance on his face when he realised it meant he was going to miss out on food, but he didn't offer up any sort of consolation or say that he'd fetch Ian something later. It went without saying, so he didn't see the point in wasting the words.

He hated how his feelings were plainly written all over his face though as they eased Ian from the bed onto the gurney. His features were twisted into something that seemed to go beyond pain as his knees bent slightly for what Mickey knew was practically the first time. And Mickey felt everything right along with him, because when Ian grabbed hold of his hand and Mickey squeezed it back, it was like they were connected some way that was more than simply physical. And Mickey knew that was stupid, it wasn't possible, was probably just in his mind, but he could still feel it. It was like a strange ripple of electricity was crackling through their touch, linking them, proving to Mickey that he wouldn't be able to survive if that connection was ever severed.

The light that was always a constant in Ian's eyes dimmed slightly under the weight of the pain and the nurses who were helping move him tensed visibly, awaiting the screams. But they never came, because Mickey dug his fingernails into the back of Ian's hand and when their eyes met, he let his mouth twist upwards into a strange sort of smile. It probably wasn't even a smile, but it made that light flicker back on.

Most of the time Mickey had no clue how simple things like that, things he didn't even know he was doing or that he did simply because he didn't know what else to do, he had no clue how they meant so much to Ian, why they made him grin like a lunatic or relax. It didn't make sense, but Mickey supposed it didn't have to. As long as it helped, he'd keep doing those little things; and not only for the reason that he did them unconsciously, so he probably couldn't stop if he wanted to.

"Is it sad that I'm actually looking forwards to seeing the corridor outside this room?" Ian asked once they had him about as settled as he could be on the uncomfortable gurney."

"No love, it's a change of scenery," the nurse said at the same time as Mickey snorted and said, "Yeah, it's fucking retarded, it's just a corridor."

The nurse who'd spoken looked at him in an exasperated sort of way, but Lizzie – their usual nurse, the one who  _knew_  – just smirked. She seemed to think she was all-knowing or some shit like that and since she'd kept her trap firmly shut after that slip up with Mandy, Mickey didn't really react. It bothered him a little, he'd admit to that, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it. He wasn't about to go and kill some nurse, especially not since she was a woman. That wasn't his style.

"Maybe we'll see that guy with the blisters all over him," Ian said and Mickey hated how hopeful he sounded over something so stupid. He wondered if he would have been the same if their positions were reversed. He thought probably not since nobody would have bothered to come see Mickey other than perhaps Mandy and he probably would have died of boredom.

He often wondered whether Ian would bother coming to see him if it was Mickey in that hospital bed with the ruined kneecaps instead of him.

Mickey smirked, "Good thing you haven't eaten if we do, it's pretty fucking disgusting."

Ian scowled again, obviously over the fact he'd just been reminded of how he wasn't getting any lunch, but his features soon smoothed out as they started to wheel him out of the room. Mickey eased his hand out of Ian's, uncomfortable with that contact once they got out into the corridor and Ian didn't complain. His expression clearly said, "Don't you dare leave my sight," though.

X-rays were on the floor below them and he could see Ian tense as they all squeezed into the elevator. His hand fell over the edge of the gurney and his fingers dug into the back of Mickey's thigh. He shifted uncomfortably, because of all things, that action turned him on.

They didn't pass the guy with the blisters, which Mickey actually thought was for the best, but he didn't say anything. In fact, even Ian didn't talk on the trip down, which was clear testament to his nerves if nothing else. Lizzie didn't bother speaking either and Mickey obviously didn't, but the other nurse who didn't know them from Adam was chattering away without a care in the world, obviously oblivious to the rest of their discomfort. Mickey just wished she would shut up, but he kept his mouth shut, instead drowning out her words and watching Ian out of the corner of his eye.

Ian was lying back on the gurney, his fingers digging into Mickey's leg and his eyes glazed over and unfocussed. Mickey hated that expression he got, when he was obviously pushing away the rest of the world so that he could retreat into the safety of his own mind. Unlike some people though, Mickey understood that sometimes it was best to just leave Ian there, as long as he didn't start screaming or crying or anything that Mickey found uncomfortable, he was fine with it. Ian was more likely to react badly if you tried to get him to talk to you rather than if you just let him be.

Mickey hated that he understood Ian like that.

He shifted again slightly to try and hide his arousal, which wasn't fading any time soon with Ian's hand still gripping him like it was. It didn't even matter that it was only his leg, it didn't even matter that the touch came with a little bite of pain as Ian's fingers gripped hard. That touch made his brain short circuit and he felt even more stupid than he normally did.

This whole situation was stupid, but he couldn't exactly get out of it now. He was in too deep and that should have been freaking him out, maybe it did a little, but Mickey wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see the more important things than bolting.

"Mickey can't come in with you, Ian, but we need you to try and stay calm," Lizzie said, bending over the redhead slightly as they stood outside the X-ray room, "If you start moving about too much it'll only mean we have to do it again."

The panic in Ian's eyes was almost painful to see and Mickey could spot the worry for how this situation was going to turn out written all over Lizzie's face. She expected the worst, everybody always did when it came to Ian and new situations. Not that his track record was great admittedly, but damn, someone needed to have a little faith.

"Jesus Christ, Firecrotch's gonna be fine, he's not a child," he said, directing his words at Ian though rather than Lizzie, because he knew that it was Ian who needed to hear them more. If he kept thinking everybody was expecting him to freak out, it was going to become second nature. Mickey wasn't smart, but even he knew that much.

Ian half smiled and nodded, emotions that practically knocked the wind out of Mickey's lungs and his feet out from underneath him swimming in his eyes. It sounded stupidly final when the door clicked shut behind them, but Mickey refused to let that bother him.

He practically fell into the chair opposite the door, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling as he waited. This was the part that always pissed him off about hospitals, the waiting. He didn't like waiting, but he did feel like he'd gotten significantly better at it these last month or so. Sometimes he thought it was weird how quickly time seemed to have slipped by.

"So, how long have you and Ian been friends?" the nurse he didn't know sat down in the chair beside him.

 _Bitch, don't you have something better to be doing? What part of this scenario makes you think it's okay to talk to me?_  He thought that but didn't say it, instead he ground out through clenched teeth, "No fucking clue, we grew up in the same neighbourhood."

Secretly though, he was glad that she hadn't worked out from seeing them together that they were anything more than friends. He hated that he hated how that pleased him.

"It's terrible what happened to him," she said, still talking to him like he actually wanted to be talking to. She was evidently completely oblivious to his expression, tone and the fact that he wasn't even looking at her. He was still staring up at the ceiling. "I read about it in the newspaper, they caught the people who did it quite quickly, didn't they?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

He thought that maybe if he answered her she'd go away and stop talking, or maybe it would have the opposite effect. It had the opposite effect.

"Do you know why they did that to him though?" she asked, the curiosity in her voice making her want to punch her in the face because he knew it was fake and she was just being a nosy bitch, "It said it the paper that it was a personal grudge, but it didn't say what it was."

He looked at her sideways, narrowing his eyes as he glared. "Maybe that's because it's fucking  _personal_ ," he replied, his tone sharp, cruel, completely typical of the Mickey Milkovich the rest of the world outside of Ian's hospital room saw, "Which means it isn't any of your God damn business."

She was pissing him off, he couldn't help it.

"You know there's no need to be rude about it," she said, scowling at him, "People are allowed to ask questions."

"Not to me," he told her, practically growling out the words, but the anger that built up inside of him over the whole issue of what had happened to Ian was bubbling over again, "And I will be as rude as I fucking like, because I don't want you talking to me and I certainly don't want you fucking talking to me about this."

He was pleased when she got up and walked away.

Lizzie, not so much.

"Where the hell did Melissa go?" she asked, glaring at Mickey with her arms folded like she knew that there wasn't a chance in hell that her disappearance  _wasn't_  his fault. He had to be fair though, this time it was, but the bitch had deserved it.

"No fucking clue," he replied, shrugging, "But she was pissing me off."

Lizzie sighed, but Mickey wasn't looking at her anymore, he was watching Ian. He hadn't heard any screams, but there was obvious pain in his eyes and Mickey wished he knew what he could do that would make it go away. He just stayed where he was though, because he knew that right then if he moved, he would hate himself for his actions later. If it had just been Lizzie and them in the corridor maybe he would have moved out of that seat, but there were so many people here.

He had a feeling that was probably contributing to how freaked out Ian was starting to look.

"She pisses everybody off, Mickey," Lizzie said to him, but she didn't sound all that annoyed, not really. She was a pretty laid back person he'd discovered. "What did you say to her?"

"To mind her own fucking business," he replied, looking back up at the ceiling for a second, "Why's it matter what I said to her, either way she isn't bloody here."

Lizzie didn't answer that, just looked down at Ian, touching his arm briefly as she said, "I'll be back in a second, I need to go find someone to help me get you back up into your room and settled in now that Mel's taken off."

Ian just nodded, he didn't seem to care all that much. Even though was panicked, Mickey could see that he was enjoying being out of his room for a bit longer. Nobody could really begrudge him of that, not even Mickey, even if he did think Ian's excitement over seeing a fucking corridor was stupid.

"They're cute," Ian commented, looking across at a little old couple, the man pushing the woman around in a wheelchair, both of them laughing like they were teenagers or some shit like that. Annoyingly, Ian wasn't the only one who was watching them and finding the scene adorable.

Mickey just shrugged, staring at the couple with something close to distaste. Ian frowned at him. "Mick, what the hell is your problem with people in love?" he asked, obviously viewing the two old people in a completely different light than Mickey did.

The silence was just beginning to settle on them when Mickey finally spoke. And it wasn't that he didn't want to answer Ian's question, it was just that he didn't quite know how to phrase it. "Because I don't believe it's real," he replied eventually, chewing on the side of his thumb and glancing at Ian sideways, trying to gauge his reaction before quickly looking away again.

"What?" he was surprised and confused, Mickey could hear all that in his voice, "You don't think their love is real?"

Mickey knew how that sounded, knew how his next words would sound, like he was a complete and utter heartless jackass. "Not just theirs, anybody's," he explained, even though he knew Ian wasn't going to understand anyway, "People always claim to be in love, but then they go and do something to fuck it all up, proving that everything they said about love was a lie." People cheated on the people they professed to love, they killed them, they lied to them, so how could love really exist between two people if they could do that?

Then again, Mickey's experience of love wasn't very broad. Nobody to his memory had ever told him that they loved him. His Dad certainly had never said it, his Mum had been too stoned out of her mind before her death to say much of anything that made any sense, his brothers would think it just made them fags and although Mickey knew Mandy loved him, she'd never said it, just like he'd never said it to her. And outside of his family, who was there that would want to love a fuckup and a dickhead like Mickey? Well, maybe the stupid redheaded Gallagher sitting in front of him did, but he'd never said it either and Mickey wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

Things only ever seemed to go wrong the moment people said those three words, 'I love you'. Or at least, that's what Mickey had learnt from his limited experience of love and from what he'd seen in all of those shitty movies Mandy watched and he for some reason sat through.

"So you don't believe in love?"

 _Shit_ , could Gallagher have sounded any more heartbroken?

He groaned, pushing the heel of his hand into his eye and rubbing. "That's not what I said," he replied, not even knowing why he was bothering to explain himself anymore. Maybe it was because he didn't like the look on Ian's face, the heartbroken, kicked puppy look that Mickey could see out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not saying love doesn't exist, it's just that when people start tossing the words around, when they actually tell somebody they love them, shit just hits the fan." He shrugged, "And it's harder to get your heart broken if you never admit to it."

Ian didn't say anything and in the silence, Mickey knew what he wanted to say. He twisted his head around, meeting Ian's eyes and lapping up the confusion and the hurt and the sadness and even the splash of pity that was there.

"Besides," he said, knowing the words were going to sound stupid to him but that Ian would find some stupid fucking meaning in them because he knew Mickey's mind better than even Mickey did sometimes, "If two people are actually in love, then they shouldn't have to fucking say it because they should just know anyway how the other person feels."

 _Like us_ , he thought, but he didn't say that out loud. He wasn't going to get that sappy and sentimental and all that shit. It would defeat the object if he came out outright and said how he felt. Not only because he didn't do that, but because he didn't physically think he could say the words. Not to another person, especially another person who wasn't his family.

"If I never say it," he said so quietly he wasn't sure if Ian could hear his words, but he needed the other boy to understand this. Maybe then he wouldn't push the matter, maybe then he would know without Mickey having to say it, "If I never say it, then the rest of the world can't butt in and fuck it up, they can't ruin anything if they don't know."  _It only matters if we know_. He hoped Ian could hear the words he wasn't saying, the words that he was screaming in his mind but just didn't have the courage to say out loud.

The entire time he had been speaking, Ian had just stared at him in that way he did sometimes. And then slowly, ever so slowly, a smile stretched across his lips. And that smile was all Mickey needed to see, because he knew it meant that Gallagher understood and that he also felt just the same as Mickey did. They didn't have to say it out loud to make it real. They could see it was real in Ian's smiles, in the brush of skin, when they marked each other with their tongues, teeth and bruising touch, when their eyes met and everything else faded away for that heartbeat before Mickey had to look away for fear he was going to drown under the weight of emotion and unannounced feelings.

They knew how they felt when they crammed into that single hospital bed, Ian lying on his back and Mickey's head resting on his chest, his arm lightly draped over Ian's stomach, holding him firmly, protectively but nevertheless carefully. Because if he didn't hold him, Mickey knew the world would feel like it was falling out from underneath his feet. And Mickey was done with feeling like that.

Mickey knew it sounded stupid, but lying in that crappy little hospital bed with one arm stuffed underneath his own body and the other thrown across Ian's waist, he didn't think he'd ever slept better. And that was definitely stupid because he had a dead arm and he was bloody uncomfortable. It didn't make any sense to him.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that with his head buried in Ian's chest, Gallagher was all he could smell, was all he seemed to know. He could feel the slow rising and falling of Ian's chest as he breathed and under his ear Ian's heart beat like there was an army marching in his chest. The bare skin against his cheek was warm and he found himself tracing his fingers over Ian's abs before he even quite knew that he was doing it. Somehow he knew without needing to look up that Ian was awake, but they stayed there in silence for a while.

"Mickey?"

Ian's voice rumbled through his chest and Mickey swore he could feel it tremble right the way down to his toes. Mickey smiled because Ian couldn't see him and he was allowed to be soft and just revel in things sometimes. Not often, but in moments like these he thought he could allow himself that.

"What?" he replied, digging his fingers into Ian's hip as he felt fingers trace a path down his spine. He wanted to remain in control, but his body betrayed him. He shivered and knew that Ian could feel his arousal pushing rather insistently against his thigh.

He shifted his hips back slightly, because even though Ian didn't seem to have any trouble being near to him so far, Mickey still couldn't forget what had happened to Ian. He couldn't let it be swept under the rug, not when it could potentially be too much for Ian.

Although the way Ian's hand slid down into the back of Mickey's slacks, under his boxers, his short nails digging into Mickey's ass, practically forcing his dick back against Ian's leg, he didn't think the redhead had too many problems with knowing how much Mickey wanted him.

"I didn't dream last night," Ian told him in a voice that was only slightly, but still so deliciously husky.

Mickey frowned, "And you're ruining my lazy moment, to tell me that why?" He could hear just from Ian's tone that this was a big deal for him, but he didn't understand what was the importance of it.

"Because I'm pleased," he replied simply, "You kinda chase away the darkness in my head, Mick."

And that made him understand. He'd never thought too much about why Ian would scream sometimes in his sleep, but dreaming made sense. If he was dreaming about the things that had happened, if Mickey had known that was what he was doing, Mickey would have found a way to stop them. He didn't know quite how that would have been possible, but he would have found a way.

"You're turning fucking soft, Gallagher," he muttered harshly, because he didn't know how to talk about the emotions he felt. He didn't want to talk about them. He preferred staying silent and knowing that Ian could sense the words he didn't say anyway.

He felt Ian shrug, which was strange considering he was still mostly lying on him. "I'm allowed."

"Oh yeah, since when?"

Ian didn't say anything, but even if he had, Mickey knew he wouldn't have registered the words. Ian twisted around slightly, the position a little awkward because he couldn't move his legs, but he pulled Mickey closer to his body with the hand digging into Mickey's ass at the same time his other hand snaked down the front of the ex-con's trousers.

Subtlety be damned, because it was definitely overrated. Mickey's brain pretty much short-circuited as Ian's long fingers closed around his almost painfully obvious arousal. It was a good sort of hurt though and he found himself automatically pressing closer to Ian, his fingers digging into the younger boy's side and his teeth nipping at whatever skin he could reach. His face was pressed into Ian's neck and the scent of him was wrapping around Mickey's senses like a vice, drowning them, drowning him.

Somehow he felt like he was hovering above them, feeling everything but not in his body anymore. He screwed his eyes shut as Ian casually fondled him, his touch gentle, barely there but it was all Mickey was aware of.

A strangled sort of moan came out of his throat, but Ian swallowed the noise as his mouth clamped over Mickey's. There was no hesitation, nothing but pure need. It was all tongues and teeth, not-so-gently biting each other's mouths as their actions became nothing but frantic.

Everything just seemed to be falling away from him, fading into the darkness with every jerk of Ian's wrist and every slight twist and at that moment, Mickey forgot all about where they were, who he was, what he was and wasn't supposed to do. He just clung tight to Ian, his grip undoubtedly bruising, but the redhead never complained.

Mickey knew he wasn't going to last long, but that wasn't his fault. It had been so long, too long that the finish started creeping up on him before they'd really even begun. He tore his mouth away from Ian's, latching onto that soft juncture where his neck met his shoulder with his teeth. Ian moaned into Mickey's hair, his mouth right by his ear, making Ian's breathing the only thing Mickey could hear.

Ian's fingers stopped digging into the cheeks of his ass and Mickey would have complained if he'd actually been able to formulate any sort of words at that moment. When the tip of Ian's finger nudged the opening to his body, pushing only just inside a strange sort of snarling sound emerged from his throat and he bit down on Gallagher's shoulder until he could taste blood on his tongue.

And then he was tumbling over the edge, he was falling and it wasn't the falling bit that he was afraid of. It was the bit that came after. When he was falling he was somehow at peace with everything, or maybe it was that he could forget everything but the fall. The grief only started when he hit the ground.

"Mick?" Ian asked, that voice pulling him back to reality, back out of the glorious haze that his brain had become. He didn't mind though, he didn't mind in the slightest. Ian's hands were still in his slacks, still holding him tight and Mickey could feel that touch tingling right the way down to his toes.

He was too fucking relaxed to even bother hating how much he loved that feeling.

"Mmm?" he still wasn't quite able to form actual words, but he did remember to detach his teeth from Ian's shoulder, licking at the blood even though he knew that was probably strange. All he could taste was Ian's blood on his tongue and it was disgusting but amazing all at the same time.

"I know you heard what Fiona said," Ian told him, his voice quiet, like he knew Mickey wasn't going to like this topic of conversation.

And it was true, he tensed up, his relaxed fingers once again digging into Ian's hips.

"Yeah, just leave it, Firecrotch," he said, his voice raspy and deeper, probably from trying not to scream into Ian's shoulder, "It doesn't fucking matter." That was a lie, they both knew it. It did matter, but he wasn't ever going to admit that it bothered him what Fiona thought of him. He was used to people hating him, thinking he was dirt, so he didn't know why Fiona's words got under his skin. Maybe it was who she was saying them to, he didn't know. What he did know was he hated the feeling of hearing those words.

"Yeah, but it does," Ian said, as persistent as ever, which this time Mickey found fucking annoying, "You know she's wrong don't you Mick, what she said about you, she isn't right."

But she was, that was the point and he told Ian as much.

He shook his head, his breath whispering across Mickey's sweat dampened skin. "She's not Mick," he said, the words quiet, private, just for them, "You're not perfect, but you're perfect for me."

"Why?" he had to ask, because it he was speaking he didn't have time to think too much about what Ian was saying. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to consider Ian's words, didn't want to let himself do anything fucking stupid like  _hope_.

Ian pulled him impossibly closer, the arm around Mickey's back that snaked into his slacks tensing and Mickey could feel it bruising his skin and he kind of loved that. "No idea," Ian admitted, "Just are."

And it shouldn't have been, but that was actually enough of an answer for Mickey.

He thought it sort of summed them up. The fact that somehow they worked in a way neither of them could even begin to explain. They weren't compatible by anybody's standards, not even their own, but here they were. Maybe it was the fact that they had fucking amazing sex, or that they both understood that being gay for them wasn't about waving a fucking rainbow coloured flag or some shit, it was just about cock. Or maybe, it was because on some level that seemed to go right down to their very core, they understood each other without even meaning to.

There were so many maybes, but Mickey couldn't be bothered to turn any of them into fact. He was fine with just wondering. He didn't need anything set in stone, that just wasn't the way that he was.

He pulled back slightly so that he could look into Ian's face, because he wanted to see what Ian was feeling, knew he could see it through Ian's eyes. And the expression on his face, the sheer magnitude of emotion shining out of the redhead made Mickey want to break his heart and give him his own. His heart was harder, it was safer and it wasn't like Gallagher didn't already fucking own it.

There was movement in the doorway and Mickey had a whole heartbeat of considering panicking before he recognised the face. Ian looked over his shoulder and slowly, deliberately pulled his hand from the front of Mickey's slacks, slipping his fingers into his mouth one by one and sucking them clean.

That was enough to practically make Mickey hard again, but he was too busy laughing. The expression on Kash's face was fucking priceless, it was like all of his Christmases had come at once. He laughed and he didn't stop for a long time. Even when Ian elbowed him hard in the ribs, knocking him from the bed onto the floor, he was still laughing.

He didn't even really know why.


	10. Chapter 10

Ian didn't know what Mickey found so funny and he didn't think Mickey actually did either. The expression on Kash's face had admittedly been something to see, the surprise there so genuine it was almost insulting. A part of Ian though couldn't help but be relieved that it had been Kash in that doorway, because he already knew. If it hadn't been Kash, Mickey probably wouldn't have been laughing, he would have been running for the hills.

Kash disappeared from the doorway the moment Mickey hit the floor, still laughing, but Ian sort of knew he would be back.

It was another half an hour before Mickey clambered to his feet, his face streaked with tears that had leaked out while he was laughing and Ian hadn't actually ever seen Mickey cry. Even if they weren't proper tears, he still thought it counted. It proved Mickey had tearducts at the very least.

Completely unashamedly he stripped off his slacks and boxers, putting on a pair of Ian's that still sat in a drawer in the back of the room, in case Ian ever actually needed to get dressed. Mickey didn't ask to borrow them and Ian didn't care, they were past needing to ask stupid questions. He clambered into his boiler suit then and with a smirk went off to work.

Ian didn't know what Mickey was planning to do with the defiled boxers and he was too fucking relaxed to care enough to ask. For the first time, it didn't feel like all of the air had been sucked from the room when Mickey walked out, he didn't feel himself retreating back a step into the safety of his own head, his feelings didn't really change at all.

He put that down to the fact he could still smell Mickey all over his hands and the sting of a bite mark at the bottom of his neck, where it met his shoulder.

Kash wandered in just a few minutes after Mickey left and Ian knew he was going to lecture him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Kash just stared at him for a while, the disappointment in his eyes chokingly obvious and it pissed Ian off if he was honest. He didn't speak first for fear that if he opened his mouth he was going to bite the older man's head off.

He knew it was pointless, that Mickey would only think it was stupid, but he couldn't help feeling fucking protective of the ex-con. Mickey wouldn't ever want that protection and Ian probably couldn't actually offer much, but he still felt it.

"You're still fucking him."

It wasn't a question. He'd licked the evidence off of his own hand in front of Kash and the knowledge of that made him smile, because he could still taste Mickey on his tongue. He loved how Mickey tasted, whether it was his sweat when Ian trailed a tongue up the side of his neck, his blood when Ian bit down into his shoulder or the come that he sucked off of his fingers. He loved it all.

"Not so much fucking," he replied lightly, settling back into the pillows, comfortable for once, "It'd be difficult to pull off with two fucked up kneecaps." Then again, in his head he could picture Mickey riding him. That would be possible even with his legs unable to move, but at the same time it still wasn't really something that could happen.

"Why?" Kash asked, moving to stand at the foot of the bed, looking awkward, "What the hell do you see in a guy like that?"

Ian wished people would stop saying that. He wished they would stop judging Mickey, because sure, he was a lot of things, not many of them good, but Ian meant what he had said earlier, he was still perfect for Ian.

"You wouldn't understand," he said, glaring at his ex-lover, "And I don't really want to explain to you."

Sometimes it felt like Mickey was his secret, like nobody else in the world really knew he existed and in a way, that was true. Nobody knew Mickey like Ian did and Ian knew that, it had used to be the knowledge that kept him going throughout all the times Mickey was being a dickhead.

"You can do better," Kash told him simply, like he had a right to judge Ian and Mickey.

Ian snorted, "What better, as in you?" He felt his mouth twist up into a smirk that he thought he'd probably picked up from Mickey. He knew he didn't pull it off as well though. "Because news flash Kash, fucking him is in a whole different league to what it had been like fucking you."

It was the truth and they always said the truth hurt.

Ian couldn't really explain why, but he wanted to hurt something, someone. He was angry, for practically no reason, the need to snap at somebody, to hurt them almost too much. Kash just happened to be the one that was there and Ian had so much easy ammunition when he came to him.

He was pleased when Kash flinched.

"What do you want?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest, "Because I know you didn't come here to yell at me over Mickey."

He could tell from the look on Kash's face that the older man had always thought that Mickey had been a onetime thing, just a quick fuck in the back of the storeroom because Kash hadn't been about or something like that. It pissed Ian off that nobody could ever see how much Mickey meant.

Even Mickey couldn't often see how much he meant. But that was because Mickey didn't want to.

It had been weird talking to him about love, weird seeing his take on things because Ian hadn't expected that. He'd just thought Mickey didn't want to fall in love, not that he was terrified of it. Ian sort of understood his take on things, knew that Mickey felt even if he didn't want to, even if he refused to admit to it. And even though he hadn't said the words, he still had confirmed what Ian had hoped for all along.

He did love him. The times Mickey had thought he could see it in Mickey's eyes after they'd fucked or when Ian was talking about nothing in particular and he could have sworn Mickey was drinking in every word, last night had just confirmed that he wasn't imagining things.

"I wanted to check you were okay," Kash said lamely and Ian thought that was the fucking stupidest thing anybody could have said right then.

He scoffed loudly. "Yeah, well I'm fucking dandy, Kash," he practically growled, "Thanks for your concern, you can go now." He wanted Kash to leave, wanted him to stop ruining the good mood that Ian had built up. He knew Fiona was going to be stopping by soon and he didn't want Kash here when she was, because she'd say something and Kash would probably let it slip about Mickey and then all hell was going to break loose because Mickey wouldn't be laughing anymore.

"Well Linda wanted you to know that you still have a job when you get out of here," he said, nervous, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, repeatedly glancing towards the door like he thought Mickey was going to come barging through any second.

Ian couldn't imagine working behind the counter at Kash and Grab again, couldn't imagine having the courage to do that. Of course he didn't tell Kash that. Instead he took a leaf out of Mickey's book and hit Kash right where it hurt, "She forgiven you yet for walking out on your kids?"

That was one of the reasons Ian had started to despise Kash. He'd been a coward, he'd just up and left, not even bothering to stick around for his unborn kids. He'd left everything, abandoned them and all because he didn't have the balls to step up and admit to what he was. Ian had been one of those abandoned kids before, his mother had walked out on him, he'd been left behind, so he knew how if felt.

And he hated Kash for making his kids feel like that.

Looking at the man standing in front of him now, he didn't know what he had ever seen in him.

Wisely, Kash didn't reply, just nodded once and walked out of the room. And Ian was glad, he was glad this time to be left alone. Because when he lay back into the pillows and closed his eyes, all he could smell was Mickey. The scent of Mickey clung to the air in the room, filling Ian's lungs every time he breathed in. It was like a drug.

It was addictive.

It wasn't Fiona that stopped by to see him like he had expected, because she usually made an appearance around lunch time each day. Lip turned up though, obviously bunking off of school, but Ian didn't care about him doing that. Lip could pass all his exams without even turning up to one lesson, he only even went so that he wouldn't get kicked out.

They chatted about stupid things, Lip updating him on stuff that had happened at home, about Carl setting the microwave on fire when he'd tried to nuke one of his toys again. Liam had fully mastered the art of climbing out of his crib which was making life hell on Fiona. Steve – Jimmy? – had basically moved in, but Fiona refused to let him buy the house too much stuff, even if it wasn't strictly charity anymore.

"Karen still hasn't turned up," he said and Ian found he'd actually almost forgotten about Karen making her mum choose between her and the baby. As far as Ian was concerned, Sheila had made the right choice, because Karen was a fucking bitch.

But he didn't say that, instead he said, "You miss her?"

Lip had basically been obsessed with Karen for ages, calling it love, but they all knew it wasn't really that. Even Lip knew. It had almost ruined him to find out that the baby wasn't his and Ian hated Karen even more for that. He never had been able to see the appeal of her in the first place, but maybe that was because he was gay. Or had standards.

Lip shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he always did when he was desperately craving a smoke. "Probably just miss the sex," he said, but they could both see that he was skirting around the question, which probably meant he knew Ian wouldn't like the answer. Which of course, was an answer in itself.

"Thought you had Mandy for that?"

Amazingly, it had been Mickey rather than Lip who'd told him about Mandy fucking his brother. And according to Mickey it was a pretty frequent thing. Ian wasn't sure how he felt about that, especially considering Mandy was still his 'girlfriend'. The one good thing was that Lip couldn't say anything about him being with – was he with Mickey, neither of them ever fucking defined it, ever – a Milkovich. The biggest issue was that if Mandy got hurt, Mickey was going to kill Lip, no two ways about it.

Lip pulled a face, "Yeah, your point?"

Ian just shrugged. "Just don't fuck that up," he said, chewing on the side of his thumb, something he did when he was craving a smoke. It had been too fucking long since he'd had one. "Don't really want to see Mick get put back in Juvie for doing your head in."

Lip snorted, "Oh thanks, you're not worried about my face or anything then?"

"If you think it'd just be your face that Mickey would fuck up, you're an idiot," Ian said honestly. He'd seen Mickey fight. Hell, he'd fought Mickey. You didn't want to be on the wrong side of that anger. Because Ian was a complete idiot though, he'd moved past being afraid of Mickey's temper and just thought it was fucking hot.

Lip grimaced. "Yeah, you may have a point there," he rubbed a hand through his hair and then frowned, "Ian, what the fuck is that smell in here?" He scrunched up his nose in distaste, "It smells like. . .  _Oh God, Ian you didn't, that's disgusting_!"

It probably didn't help that Mickey took that moment to appear in the doorway, his smirk saying it all. He threw himself down in the chair beside Ian's bed and very pointedly rearranged himself. "I think it smells fucking great actually," he said, like they were talking about a new air freshener or something, not the smell of his jizz.

Lip looked like he was about to be sick. He stood up quickly, "I think I'm going to go drink some bleach." Ian was pretty sure his brother was holding his breath as he nodded to them both and practically bolted from the room.

Mickey watched him leave with that cocky half-smile on his lips. "What?" he asked when he realised Ian was watching him.

Shaking his head, Ian chose not to even comment. It wasn't worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

Mickey made a habit of sharing Ian's hospital bed at night. Ian always held him like he was something breakable and maybe in some way Mickey was fragile. Sometimes it felt like he was teetering on the edge of. . . something. He just didn't know what.

The weirdest thing though was how much he found he enjoyed waking up to Ian holding him. Ian was almost always awake first and Mickey would be pulled from unconsciousness by the gentle stroke of a thumb over his tattooed knuckles or breath whispering across his cheek as Ian pressed closer, like he was just drinking in the sight of Mickey, the smell of him.

The best mornings though were when Mickey woke up first. Then he could just watch Ian, with his eyelids flickering like secrets were trying to escape from underneath them and his lips ever so slightly apart, the hiss of air loud in the silent room. In those moments, Mickey could press his ear to Ian's chest and match the pace of his breathing to the beat of Ian's heart. He'd wrap his arms tighter around the redhead, pressing his fingers into the pale flesh like if he didn't, Ian would suddenly disappear.

In those moments, when Ian looked more innocent and child-like than any person had a right to be, Mickey just wanted to protect him. He wanted to turn into a complete caveman and throw Ian over his shoulder, hiding him away where the rest of the world couldn't hurt him, see him or judge either of them. In the early hours of the meaning when all Mickey could hear, see and smell was Ian, he let his feelings out for a brief moment, pretended like it didn't matter what he felt, that he could admit it. And then, when he heard the slight hitch in Ian's breathing and the mumble he gave before waking, Mickey would drag it all back in, let it fill his hollow heart up with meaning and lock it away so that the rest of the world couldn't ruin it.

Because his feelings were his and his alone, his biggest secret, so much so that even Gallagher didn't really know about them.

And it was so nobody could catch him out, nobody could suspect anything that he got out of the bed before the nurses did their rounds, before someone could come in and moved into the chair beside Ian, ready to pretend that was where he'd spent the entire night. He wondered how many people actually bought his little act, the one where he still pretended he didn't really give much of a shit.

He knew that if he found out the answer, he would probably wind up doing something fucking stupid. He was glad he didn't know.

Mickey was playing with his peace of gum when Tony walked in. He was holding one end in his teeth and seeing how far out he could stretch it before it snapped. He was bored. Ian was watching some shitty program about fishing boats or something stupid like that and he looked so interested that even Mickey didn't quite have the heart to tell him to turn it the fuck off. Besides, he worked out that it wouldn't be much longer before it ended.

It didn't matter anymore though, because the moment Tony walked into the room, Ian tensed up and switched off the television, leaving the room in silence. Nobody said anything for a minute, not even when Fiona walked in after the officer and unable to stand it, Mickey starting chewing the gum,  _loudly_.

Fiona glared at him, but Ian cracked a smile so that made it sort of worth it.

Tony nodded to them both, not looking at all surprised to see Mickey there as he went to stand at the food of the bed while Fiona took a seat on the opposite side of Ian to Mickey. "Shouldn't he leave for this?" she asked, jerking a thumb towards him and Ian's muscles bunched up and his fingers gripped the bed sheet. You could have cut the tension with a knife, but Tony seemed completely unaware of this.

He shook his head. "Not if Ian wants him here," he said, "After all, Mickey is the only reason I'm actually delivering good news right now." He smiled at Mickey like he needed his fucking praise, but Mickey wasn't stupid enough to say anything that would get him kicked out of the room.

Fiona scowled, obviously having forgotten Mickey's little part in actually finding the people who had done this to Ian. He wondered if she'd intentionally blocked that information out of her mind because it made it easier to hate him.

"Now a trial's been organised for a week tomorrow," Tony explained and Mickey wished Ian would relax slightly, because it was making him nervous. It looked like Ian was about to leap out of the bed any second. Not that it was actually possible, but still. "I'm afraid Ian, you will have to testify, but we have pretty substantial evidence to prove they did it, so they won't be getting out of jail time for this one."

"The bat," Mickey said before he could stop himself, almost feeling sick at the memory of seeing that bat just lying there for anyone to see. They all looked at him in surprise and he could see the question in Ian's eyes. "They were too fucking stupid to think to get rid of the baseball bat they used," he explained, his voice dead sounding, just like it had been that day when he'd rung Tony, "It was covered in your blood."

He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, trying to drag up some semblance of control.

Tony nodded. "That's right," he said, "It did complicate things slightly that it had some of Jason O'Connor's blood on and other fingerprints, but Jason's broken leg explained that there wasn't a third party involved in Ian's attack and the brothers are refusing to press charges concerning who beat them up."

Mickey smiled and it wasn't a very nice smile.

"They're under the impression they'll wind up dead if they do say who it was, but just to warn you that part of the incident may be dragged up in court."

"Trust me, they're going to wish they were fucking dead when they get to fucking jail," Mickey said, unable to stop the words, needing for some stupid fucking reason, Ian to know how far he would take this for him.

He was pleased when Ian smiled slightly.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that," Tony said, but he looked satisfied for some reason, like he too wanted something worse to happen to the bastards who'd done this. "As I was saying though," he said, moving on quickly, "They're going to have to ask you what happened and you just have to be as honest as you can, because what you say will depend on the length of time that they're in there for."

Mickey thought it went without saying that if they ever got out and he knew about it, he'd fucking kill them. He didn't care if he was forty, fifty or a hundred when they got out, he'd still kill them.

Ian smiled at him like he could hear Mickey's thoughts, but his heart really wasn't in that smile. It seemed more sad than anything else.

"Do you think you can do that, Ian?" Tony asked, his eyes wide, pitying and Mickey wanted to punch him. Problem was he already had first-hand experience of what happened when you punched a cop in the face. It wasn't fun. "Do you think you can explain to a crowd of people what happened,  _exactly_  what happened?"

Mickey knew his words were supposed to be reassuring, but he thought they were only making it sound worse.

Ian chewed his bottom lip and looked almost like he was about to cry. "I don't know," he admitted, taking a deep breath and glancing over at Mickey, like he could do a fucking thing about this situation, "But I don't really have a choice do I, I have to do it, so I'll have to be able to."

And he hated the fact, but Mickey was actually ridiculously proud of Ian in that moment. He could tell Fiona was too as she reached out to take Ian's hand in hers. Tony nodded and he looked sort of proud too.

Mickey didn't know how he was supposed to be reacting in their eyes, so he just sat back a little more and blew a bubble with his gum. It popped loudly and Ian looked at him with a smile, seeming to relax the tiniest bit.

"Why's it taken so long for the trial to happen?" Fiona asked, being the responsible one with the important questions, "I mean, I would have thought it would have been sooner than this, you caught them pretty quick."

Tony nodded, fiddling with his hat.

"Well, there's not really any doubt they did it as I said," he explained, "But it wasn't possible to take the case to court with Ian being in the condition he was in and Jason O'Connor also had to have major surgery on one of his knees and Carl was in intensive care for two weeks due to the hits he'd taken to the head and they think he'd hit his head on the floor when he went down." He shrugged, obviously not really caring. "Either way they had to wait until the brothers were in their right minds and it only just became possible to transport Jason with his leg the way it is anyway."

Mickey couldn't help but feel pleased with himself. He hadn't thought he'd done that much damage, but he had been a little bit out of it. He only really remembered punching Carl a hell of a lot and hitting Jason with the baseball bat they'd used on Ian.

"You really did beat them up," Ian said, sounding a little incredulous, but he sounded pleased too.

Mickey snorted, "You actually doubted me?"

He would have been offended if he was the type to ever get offended over anything.

"Never," Ian said and Mickey had to look away because Gallagher was looking at him in that stupid fucking way he sometimes did that made Mickey uncomfortable. "Can Mickey be there on the day?" Ian asked, "I want him to be there."

Mickey did notice that Ian wasn't asking him if he actually wanted to be there, but he supposed it was sort of like the boxer thing. Mickey didn't have to ask to borrow them because he already knew the answer and it would just be a waste of words. It was the same case here, but it never failed to freak Mickey out that Ian knew him quite that well. He didn't like the idea that he was becoming predictable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey saw Fiona tense and that made him smirk.

"Yeah that shouldn't be a problem," Tony said, apparently oblivious to the looks the eldest Gallagher child was giving him, which was a new one. Normally the cop was fawning over Fiona like there was no tomorrow. Maybe he'd finally come to realise that he was just too  _nice_  and dependable for any Gallagher to ever take an interest in him. "It might even work in your benefit if the O'Connor brothers see he's there," he added, looking at Mickey, "You seem to have them scared out of their minds, so much so that it's rumoured their even pleading guilty."

Mickey smirked.  _Good_ , he thought. "You'd be surprised how far the Milkovich name'll get you in this town," he said, kicking his feet up onto the bed and letting his foot rest against Ian's thigh. He couldn't hold his hand in comfort like Fiona was doing, but he knew that subtle touch had pretty much the same effect. He could tell in the way Ian relaxed back into the pillows.


	12. Chapter 12

It was pissing him off.

People around the hospital were starting to know him. They all smiled at him when he passed, waved when they saw him from a distance or thought it was a great idea to stop for a quick chat about random stuff Mickey didn't give a shit about. He fucking hated it.

He knew it was because he basically lived at the hospital now, he knew it was probably impossible to help, but he still hated it. It made him feel like he was losing his edge, like he was moving away from being the scary Mickey Milkovich that he had actually sort of enjoyed knowing he was. He could just imagine getting a beating from one of his brothers or his Dad for going soft. The biggest problem was though, he didn't know how the hell he could stop it.

And that was why he made the decision to do what he did. Because to be completely honest, at that moment he just thought,  _fuck it, I need to unwind_.

He went home briefly to get the stuff he needed and to shower because he couldn't actually remember the last time he had. He stuffed some spare clothes into a bag as well, remembering what Ian had said the other day about it probably being a good idea he left some at the hospital. Then at least he could wear some fresh boxers once in a while.

"Hey, you had any painkillers yet?" he asked as he walked into Ian's hospital room quite late, pleased to see that Ian was the only one there. He tossed the bag he'd brought with him into his usual chair and stood at the foot of the bed, his eyebrows raised in impatient question.

Ian brightened when he walked in, but still frowned, "Um no, my knees don't hurt so much today so I haven't had any."

He obviously wasn't seeing why Mickey would want to know that, he generally didn't ask stupid questions like "how are you" or "are you feeling better or worse today". He didn't see the point. "Good," he said bluntly and grabbed one of the spare chairs from the edge of the room and standing on it as he pulled a screwdriver out of his back pocket.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked, watching him with that frown deepening.

"Disconnecting the smoke detector," Mickey replied, "What the fuck else does it look like I'm doing?"

Finished, he jumped down from the chair and kicked it into the corner of the room again, going over to open the window just to be safe. The freezing night air rushed in, making them both shiver, but the chill would be worth it.

"Mick what are you doing?" Ian asked, but understanding dawned on his face when he saw what Mickey was pulling out of his bag to put on the bedside table next to them. He had a six pack of cheap canned beer, a joint and a packet of cigarettes. "You do know I have court in the morning, right?" he asked, but actually looked pleased that Mickey had all of these things with him.

"All the more reason," Mickey shrugged, because even if Ian wasn't admitting it, he knew how nervous he was about having to testify the next day, "But if you're really that fucking concerned, I'll drink and smoke it all myself."

And he actually would have. They both knew that.

"Don't be fucking stupid," Ian replied, taking the can of beer Mickey handed to him. The expression of pure ecstasy on his face when he took the first mouthful was almost enough to make Mickey come in his pants like a ten-year-old.

Mickey lit up a cigarette and handed it over to the redhead before lighting one of his own. He knew they could both get into so much shit for doing this, but he didn't care. Not right then. He knew that this was what the both of them needed.

They were like that for a while, just sitting there in contented silence, drinking and smoking, neither of them feeling the need to ruin it with words. When Ian stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on the metal leg of the bed and Mickey quickly lit him another, because he knew Ian had been deprived of smoking for too long, he felt the need to speak. He didn't know why, it was usually Ian's thing to randomly start talking.

"You sure you're gonna be alright seeing them tomorrow?" he asked because even though he was Mickey and he wasn't good at asking stupid, sappy questions that made it sound like he gave a shit, he still felt like he had to ask. And they were alone after all and soon Ian was going to be drunk and probably wouldn't even remember Mickey's minor slip in resolve.

Ian glanced at him, surprise in his eyes, but something like love there too, which scared him a little. In response, he drained his beer and opened another one. "Well there isn't really anything I can do about it, is there?" he asked, his expression heart-breaking as he took a deep drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling.

They both watched it until it evaporated.

"Yeah, I guess not," Mickey replied, not really knowing where the hell he had been intending to go with that topic of conversation. He'd just felt like he had to ask. "But are you?" Ian still hadn't actually answered his question.

Ian shrugged, "A bit."

Mickey rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb and then sucked off the moisture he removed. He smirked when Ian's eyes followed that action, knowing full well what effect it was having on the redhead, but he hadn't actually meant to do that intentionally. It was a habit, nothing more. It just happened to be one of his better habits that was for sure.

"Mick?" Ian asked after another minute or so during which Mickey had handed him a second beer and dropped the empty cans down underneath the bed. He finished off his cigarette and didn't light another. Ian was still smoking them like they were going out of fashion, but Mickey could sort of understand why so he didn't comment and he certainly didn't mind.

Ian looked nervous, chewing on his bottom lip, smoke drifting up towards the ceiling from where the smouldering cigarette was clutched between his fingers. Not really knowing why it concerned him, because normally he wasn't bothered, but Mickey leant forwards and brushed stray ashes off of Ian's lap.

"You don't think it'll make them say something do you, if you're there?" he asked, looking up at Mickey through his lashes in that stupidly childish way he sometimes did. Mickey hated that he found it sort of endearing, that look. He'd never admit it though. "Seeing you there I mean, you don't think that will make them say something about how you beat them up?"

Mickey wondered what on earth put the idea in Ian's mind that Mickey would have the answers to questions like that.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he replied truthfully, because knowing Gallagher, he would fucking be able to tell if Mickey was lying, "Probably not, the bastards are too fucking scared to snitch, they know I can get them killed in jail if they mouth off."

He was still debating actually getting someone to kill them when they were in the slammer anyway. He was leaning towards giving that order, not that he'd tell Ian that. The younger boy would probably get mad at him for it or something stupid like that.

"Yeah, but what if they do?" Ian asked, his eyes as wide as saucers, his pupils wide, evidence that the alcohol was getting to him. It wasn't really enough to get them drunk, but Mickey suspected Ian might just get there because he hadn't had any alcohol in so long.

"Then they can consider themselves dead," he said simply, not really seeing Ian's concern with this subject. It definitely wasn't what Mickey thought he would have been worrying about. It certainly wasn't what Mickey himself was worrying about.

Ian looked like he was about to fucking cry, which Mickey thought was stupid. He reached for the joint in the hopes that getting Ian high would help.

"I don't want to see you go back to Juvie, Mick," Ian said and Mickey froze in place, his hand hovering over the joint where it lay on the bedside table, "If they say it was you, you'll go to Juvie, or even worse jail."

Mickey still didn't know why the hell that was of such big concern to Ian. It had been what he had been worried about when Mickey had told him he had beaten the O'Connor brothers up in the first place. And now apparently, it was still his concern. Mickey thought it was fucking stupid for him to be worrying about that, especially since chances were Mickey was going to end up in jail sooner or later again anyway. People like him were destined to spend a decent chunk of their life behind bars, it was like fate.

"Gallagher, you don't need to worry about that," he said, strangely happy that Ian was worrying about him even if it was pissing him off at the same time, "Especially since, now if I am convicted I will go to jail and chances are, it'd be the same fucking jail as them." He smiled at Ian weakly, knowing it wasn't even really a smile, but hoping the redhead was following his logic here. "They're not going to say anything because even they aren't stupid enough to be in the fucking slammer at the same time as me."

He moved to the edge of the bed, tucking the joint behind his hear and grabbing Ian's face between his hands. He blamed the slight buzz of the alcohol for his willingness to do this, or maybe it was because he really hated the way Gallagher was fucking looking at him, all wide eyed and sad, like his heart was breaking. Mickey just wanted to make it stop, because his heart was breaking right along with Ian's, all because of that expression.

"They know if I'm in there with them, I will fucking kill them for what they did," he said, close enough that he could taste the smoke and beer on Ian's breath and that no doubt the other boy could do exactly the same with his, "Do not fucking worry about it." He gripped the sides of Ian's head hard, digging his fingers into his scalp as he felt Ian take a hold of the front of his shirt, making sure Mickey couldn't escape.

But didn't he know by now, Mickey couldn't go anywhere even if he tried.

Ian Gallagher fucking owned him. Mickey was past denying that fact to himself, even if he did hate it. He had never wanted to belong to anyone, he had always wanted to be his own person, able to do what he wanted, when he wanted without having to think about anything else, anybody else. All of those plans had just gone down the bloody drain the moment he'd first fucked Ian though, he knew that now.

"I don't want you to go there," Ian said softly, like he was afraid of saying the words, "I don't want you to leave me."

"Don't you know by now?" Mickey asked, the words foreign on his tongue because they were truthful, utterly and completely, "I may go, I probably will go back there at some point, but I'll always fucking come back."

And that was the most honest thing he had ever said. They both knew it. And he could tell that Ian believed him just by the sheer intensity of their kiss that followed. It was like Ian was trying to claw inside of Mickey, trying to get completely and totally inside of him. Mickey almost wished he could have succeeded.

He only just had the mind to put Ian's can of beer on the side before they were clutching at each other desperately, biting, owning, trying to dominate. Ian's fingers dug into his ribs, clawed at his back, pushing up under his shirt to mark bare flesh. And Mickey was the same. He bit down on Ian's bottom lip until they tasted blood, scraped his teeth down Ian's neck, biting and sucking as his fingers tugged on the redhead's short hair.

They broke apart only when someone walked into the room and Mickey turned, ready to snap at someone, but saw Lizzie. She looked at the joint that had fallen from behind Mickey's ear onto the bed, noticing the empty beer cans and the cigarette ends. Her eyes drifted up to the smoke detector and she smirked.

"I'm going to pretend I haven't seen any of this," she said, smiling at them, "Carry on."

And with that she turned around and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her and Mickey sort of knew she was going to keep people out of the room for the rest of the night. It made him make a mental note to be politer to her, at least a little bit. She wasn't actually that bad and she was certainly making up for basically outing him to Mandy.

Ian was smirking when Mickey looked back at him, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

"Shut up," Mickey muttered, not having the patience to try and work out exactly what Ian was asking.

He grabbed his lighter off the side and lit the joint, taking the first drag himself even though he could see Ian gazing at it with hungry, almost desperate eyes. He bent forwards and pressed his mouth to Ian's again, blowing the smoke into his lungs. Ian's eyes widened slightly but when Mickey drew back he gave him a sort of dopey smile. Mickey took another hit and then handed it over, moving back to his chair.

It wasn't long before Ian was glassy-eyed, his cheeks red and his lips swollen and Mickey loved it. He looked fucking hot like that. And when he grinned at Mickey in that shit eating way he always seemed to do, it was almost too much. Mickey stuffed a hand down the front of his trousers and gripped himself. He was hard,  _too_  hard, it was close to being fucking painful.

Ian watched him for a moment and then motioned him over. "Stand up," he said, reaching out to grab the front of Mickey's shirt, literally pulling him out of the chair and towards the bed. Mickey sort of knew what Ian was going to do, but he didn't say anything, didn't want to ruin it by opening his big fucking mouth.

His suspicions were confirmed when Ian pulled him right up to the bed so that his knees hit the mattress and then, the redhead gripped Mickey's wrist, pulling his hand out of his own trousers. Ian pushed the slacks down off of Mickey's hips and his boxers followed and Mickey only had a second to think that he really hoped nobody walked in, but the moment Ian's tongue flickered across the swollen head of his cock, he didn't care. In fact, he was pretty sure he lost all coherent thought.

Ian had always been good at giving head, but it was different now that Mickey had gone so long without it. It almost seemed to mean more, but Mickey didn't want to think about shit like that. He physically _couldn't_  think about shit like that, not right then.

Ian's tongue lapped around the head, pushing into the slit and making Mickey's breathing stutter. The redhead looked up at Mickey through his lashes and Mickey could see a smile curving his lips as he slowly sucked the head into his mouth.

It was almost too much, he almost came right then, far too soon. Wet heat enveloped his cock as Ian seemed to treat it like some sort of lollipop, gently suckling on just the head before pulling off and tracing the thick vein that ran down the length with his tongue. Mickey shivered with nothing but pure need, his fingers pushing into Ian's hair as Ian's fingers closed around his base, jacking him ever so slowly, too slowly.

He bit down on his bottom lip to try and stop himself from moaning too loudly, but when Ian finally took him into his mouth, he didn't actually have to worry about anyone hearing them. Mickey's mouth opened, but no sound came out as he desperately tried to concentrate on not coming too soon. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as he possibly could, but he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to last.

Especially not when the muscles in Ian's throat relaxed and he swallowed him down right to the base, his nose buried in Mickey's pubes. Mickey made a sort of choking noise in the back of his throat when Ian pulled off, the cold air in the room on his wet cock making him gasp out loud. Ian grinned wickedly up at him, their eyes meeting before he dipped his head again, suckling Mickey's balls into his mouth.

He bit down none too gently on the juncture where his thigh met his groin and Mickey moaned, tightening his hold on Ian's hair.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he managed to gasp out as Ian swallowed him down to the base again. Mickey didn't think there was anything hotter than seeing Ian sucking his cock, seeing those lips stretched around his length, that tongue as it flicked out to taste the slit on the head. And Mickey wanted to tell him that, opened his mouth to say something, anything to let Ian know how good it was, how much he loved it, but he couldn't. Because he was coming.

Ian's fingers dug into his ass, preventing him from pulling away and his cock jerked and he spilled himself down Ian's throat. He knew it must have been a bit load, which sort of made sense since it had been a while since he had even jacked himself off, but Ian swallowed it all. His lips stayed wrapped around Mickey's cock even after he was finished, his tongue lapping around his head and Mickey knew he was dragging out the pleasure of it for the both of them.

Mickey used his hold on Ian's hair to pull him off and bent down quickly to capture Ian's mouth with his own. He could taste himself on Ian's tongue when it pushed into his mouth and that was almost enough to make him hard again. He pulled his boxers and slacks back up quickly before falling forwards onto the bed, mindful of Ian's legs as he straddled the younger boy's hips, using the height it gave him to dominate the kiss.

Ian moaned into his mouth, his hands roaming up the front of Mickey's chest, pushing up his shirt as Ian tweaked his nipples. "Mickey," he whispered when they tore their mouths apart, saying Mickey's name almost like a prayer.

Looking down at him, Gallagher's feelings were written all over his face and Mickey knew he must have been the same. Right then though, he felt to good and was too fucking high to give a shit. He'd worry about it all in the morning if he could be bothered, he'd panic then, but at that moment, he didn't want to do any of that. All he wanted was the taste of Ian's lips on his tongue, nothing else. Not right then.

"Tomorrow will go fine," Mickey muttered some time later, when he was lying with an arm under Ian's head and another across his waist, the rest of the beers having been drunk, all of the cigarettes having been smoked and the evidence for the latter being dropped out of the window. Mickey would clean up the cans in the morning before anybody came in to find them.

He knew Ian was too out of it, too tired to acknowledge his words and the only reason Mickey was even really saying them was because he was high and a little bit drunk and was still feeling the after effects of his mind-blowing orgasm.

"I'll make it go fine," he muttered, "You'll see."

He may have said something else, but he couldn't remember and he wasn't actually aware of what he was saying at the time if he did. All he remembered after that was tightening his arms around Ian and breathing in the scent of him, which seemed to only have improved now it was mixed with sweat, booze and smoke. Maybe that was because that was how Ian had always smelt before when they'd met up.

After that, he supposed he must have fallen asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

If anybody noticed that they were slightly hung over the next morning, they didn't comment. Mickey had already cleaned up all of the evidence and the window they had left open all night had wafted away the smell. All of the Gallaghers had turned up at the hospital several hours before they were due to set off to court, apparently seeing it as some sort of fucking family outing. Mickey didn't comment though, not even when he noticed Frank was absent.

He sort of expected that and Ian didn't seem to notice or give a shit. So why should he? Frank had always been a shitty father, no reason that should really change now just because Ian was in hospital.

"You planning on actually cleaning up to go to court?" Lip asked him, frowning at Mickey's ripped jeans and only slightly dirty tank top. Mickey looked down at what he was wearing, actually thinking this was pretty damn clean for him. He'd showered yesterday as well, so he knew he didn't smell and it wasn't like he was turning up to the court house in slacks.

"You planning on going to court with a busted lip?" he replied calmly. Lip flinched and Mickey smirked, "Well then, shut the fuck up."

They were all shooed from the room as a nurse Mickey didn't know and one he sort of did judging by how she smiled at him, appeared to get Ian dressed. Mickey almost commented that their help wasn't even really needed until he remembered that Ian had to be detached from all of the pieces of metal and he did have two massive casts on his knees.

When they were let back in the room, Ian was dressed in a suit on the top half of his body and black tracksuit bottoms on the bottom. Mickey thought it actually looked sort of stupid, but he didn't comment because he knew it was the best that they could really do with the casts on Ian's legs. If you only looked at the top half of his body though, he supposed he looked pretty smart.

Still, Mickey was going as he was. He didn't even think he had anything smarter if he had wanted to change. With the way Ian was smiling at him when he walked back into the room, he knew it didn't matter to that Gallagher either what he wore. And Ian was the only Gallagher that even really fucking mattered to Mickey, the only one who's opinion he cared about, so he was happy.

"If you're gonna puke, make sure you fucking angle it away from me," Mickey told him when the clocked ticked nearer to the time when they had to leave and Ian started to turn a funny shade of pale green. They could all see he was nervous, but he laughed and seemed to relax at Mickey's comment.

Tony had turned up to escort them to the court house, saying they'd got a special minibus or whatever to transport Ian in his wheelchair. Fiona and Lip were travelling in the minibus with him, as was Mickey and the rest of the Gallaghers were being driven by Steve – Jimmy? – but admittedly Mickey sort of zoned out when they were discussing that because he simply didn't care. He thought he might have heard mention of some other people who were turning up to show their support, but he wasn't sure.

Lizzie appeared just after Tony did, making the room all of a sudden too full, although nobody said anything. She was pushing a wheelchair and put it right beside Ian's bed, shooing some Gallaghers out of the way in the process.

"Mickey, help me lift him, will you?" she asked, not looking at anybody else but him, making it pretty obvious that she wasn't going to accept anybody else's help. "Glad to see your upright," she muttered in a low voice so that only he could hear when he came closer and then a little more loudly said, "Right, I'll pick up his legs and try and keep them straight if you lift him into the chair."

Mickey nodded, moving closer to Ian and slipping on hand under his back, the other under his thighs as Lizzie held Ian's legs, keeping them in a position that wouldn't hurt his knees too much. Of course, they both knew it was still going to hurt him when they moved.

Ian's arm went around Mickey's neck and Mickey winced ever so slightly as his nails dug into his skin. Ian's other hand gripped Mickey's shirt so tight anybody would have thought it was a lifeline. Lizzie counted down and then they lifted him.

He actually found it surprising how easy it was to lift Ian and he was glad because Ian's hiss of pain as they picked him up made Mickey rush to put him down again. He placed Ian as gently as he could into the chair, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lizzie started setting up the supports for his legs that were attached to the chair so that his legs could remain pretty much straight.

"Damn Firecrotch, you need a burger or something," he muttered after he'd put Ian down, relieved when Ian cracked a smile. Mickey tried to straight up, but was stopped by the fact Ian hadn't loosened his hold on either the back of his neck or his shirt. Normally, Mickey wouldn't have minded this closeness, hell, they'd definitely been closer, but they were in a room full of people and it was making Mickey antsy. "Ian, you're kinda gonna have to let go," he said softly, but he knew they could all hear him.

"Oh, right," Ian let go of him quickly, tucking his hands into his lap like they offended him, "Sorry."

Mickey shrugged as he straightened. "No problem."

He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing there were going to be marks there. He figured it sort of made him even though since he knew Ian had a bite mark on his shoulder that Mickey had given him last night.

"Right then," Tony said, clapping his hands loudly and making a few people jump, "Let's go then, don't want to be late."

People nodded and started moving off, Lip taking up position behind Ian's chair to push him.

"Good luck," Lizzie said as they left, but the thing that bothered Mickey about that was he didn't actually know who she was saying it to, him or Ian?

Being near the court made Mickey nervous, made him feel like he was the one that had to go and have some saint read out his sins for the whole world to hear. He almost pitied Ian as the redhead frantically sucked on a cigarette in the time it took them to get from the minibus to the building. He flicked the end aside and Mickey watched it land, not knowing why he wanted to see where it rolled to.

Mickey wasn't good at paying attention at the best of times when people started talking for long lengths of time, but he found he didn't have that problem at all when he walked into the court room beside Ian. He wanted to hear every word that was said, commit it to memory.

The Gallaghers all sat up front with Ian, their lawyer beside him, but Mickey wasn't stupid enough to think he would be welcome there, so he sat at the very back, his gaze locked on the two O'Connor brothers that were brought into the room, both in handcuffs, one walking and one being pushed in a wheelchair.

He felt his mouth twist into a sneer when he spotted them and he felt like shouting something out to them, warming them, especially when they stared at Ian in a way that he knew was supposed to terrify the redhead, but Mickey didn't. He didn't need to, they were going to be going down for hopefully a very long time, but before that sentence was read out, Mickey knew they'd notice him. Just knowing he was in the room would have the same effect as shouting threats.

Ian's lawyer started and he felt like he was going to be sick as they rattled off Ian's injuries, showing pictures to emphasise the point, beginning with the bruises and ending with the rape that had occurred. It was almost too much, it was almost impossible for him to stay in his seat, for him to not leap across the benches and tear out the fucking throats of the bastards responsible.

Time seemed to sort of crush together instead of dragging as Mickey had thought it would, but it seemed only a heartbeat passed from when they were listing Ian's injuries to when Ian was called up to the stand.

He had to swear on the Bible to be truthful, which Mickey thought was stupid because he knew for a fact Gallagher wasn't religious. Ian was when wheeled up behind that stand and he was as white as a sheet, obviously trying to look anywhere but the O'Connor brothers. He was looking around frantically and Mickey knew why that was, it was because Ian had only just noticed that Mickey wasn't actually sitting with Ian's family in the front rows.

Mickey didn't know how he knew that, but it was confirmed when Ian spotted him and their eyes met. He made himself smile, didn't know whether it was a nice expression or in any way comforting, but Ian must have got something from it because he seemed to relax slightly.

Ian was asking what had happened that night, told to take as much time as he needed and Mickey watched as the redhead twisted his hands together, his knuckles white. He was so pale Mickey thought he could probably count each freckle on his face even from that distance.

He thought he was going to be sick again.

"I was leaving work when it happened," Ian said, his voice low, broken as he quite obviously said words he would have preferred not to have been spoken aloud, "I had to lock up, so it was pretty late when I left and I was running even later than usual so I decided to try and take a shortcut to get home down one of the side alleys." He took a deep breath and his eyes flickered towards the O'Connor brothers, before returning to Mickey. Mickey swallowed, somehow able to feel Ian's distress almost as though it were his own. He wished he knew what he could do to calm him down, wished there was something anybody could do, but there wasn't.

"The O-O'Connor brothers walked towards me from the other end of the alley and I t-thought they were just going to mug me or something," Ian said, his hands twisting and untwisting in front of him. Mickey found his own hands doing the same. They both took a deep breath. "I knew them from my neighbourhood, they l-lived just down the road from my friend M-Mandy."

Mandy, not Mickey. He thought that stutter at the end was Ian purposefully avoiding mentioning Mickey's name, changing what he was going to say. He knew the redhead didn't want there to be any chance of the brothers bringing up what Mickey had done. He sort of hated Gallagher for thinking of him when right then he only should have been worrying about himself.

"But then they said that they'd heard something about me, that they'd heard I was g-gay," Ian said and Mickey knew it was hard for him to openly have to admit that in front of so many people, "Jason hit swung the bat they had at my right knee and b-broke it so that I couldn't run away and then they. . ." he stopped and Mickey dug his nails into the palms of his hands, knew his expression wasn't a pleasant one, but he couldn't help it. Thinking of what they had done to Ian made him want to go over there and kill them. He was so close to doing it as well, but he knew he'd be stopped before he got the chance, so he didn't.

He didn't however make the decision then that they O'Connor brothers were dead men as soon as they got to jail. They were going to get a lovely visit from Mickey's Uncle or one of his other relatives in the slammer.

Ian's breath stuttered slightly and the lawyer told him again to take his time. Mickey knew his family were mouthing words of encouragement at him, but Mickey didn't bother. He just met Ian's eyes and held his gaze. Ian didn't look away from Mickey when he spoke.

"They r-raped me, b-both of them because they said I was gay and that I should be lucky that somebody was fucking me," he said, the tears boiling over and spilling down his cheeks even though he didn't once look away from Mickey, "I t-tried to f-fight them off but they had me p-pinned down and then after they s-started beating me, with the bat and by k-kicking me."

"Was this the bat, Ian?" the lawyer asked, holding it up in the plastic evidence bag, forcing Ian to look away from Mickey.

Mickey saw him flinch at the sight of the bat, but nevertheless he nodded. "Y-Yes, yes it is."

"And you are positive they did this based upon their knowledge of your sexuality?" the lawyer asked, setting the bat down again, much to Ian's obvious relief.

"Yes," Ian replied, his gaze flickering towards the brothers again, "They said so multiple times."

"Thank you, Ian," the lawyer said and then Ian was being pushed back down from behind the stand and returned to beside his family.

The lawyer then started talking about how Ian's blood was all over the bat and how the evidence was right there, but Mickey stopped listening. He tuned it out as Ian twisted around in his wheelchair to look at him. Mickey could see the red tear tracks on the younger boys cheeks and he wanted to move over there to brush them away, but he stayed rooted to his seat.

He knew Ian saw the way his expression twisted into a dangerous, hateful snarl as Carl O'Connor was called up to the stand. Mickey didn't know what the point of that was since the brothers had already pleaded guilty and it was pretty fucking obvious that they had done it, but he wasn't a lawyer and it did actually work in his favour.

Carl looked like he was about to be sick as he sat there, but he was trying to pull off the defiant look that said he didn't give a shit what happened to him and that he wasn't scared, but they could all see that he was.

"Is it true that you attacked Mr Gallagher purely based on his sexuality?"

Mickey didn't even know who's lawyer it was that was talking, he was too focussed on Carl, on trying to tear the guy apart with his eyes. In his mind, he was doing a pretty good fucking job. It was a shame he didn't have that ability in reality.

"Yes," Carl said completely unashamedly, "But that was the way that my brother and I were raised to think, it is the way most people in our neighbourhood would react to finding out someone was a fa–  _gay_."

"And is it true that you also received injuries due to those events?"

"I was in intensive care with head injuries yes," Carl said, "But that was not something which happened at the time, but afterwards." He looked a little nervous at this topic, as he should be. Mickey could see Ian shifting uncomfortably too.

"And how it is you came about these injuries?" the lawyer asked, Mickey still didn't know which one, "Do you think it was in retaliation for what happened to Mr Gallagher?"

 _Choose your words carefully, or I'll make sure you fucking beg for death before it's given to you_ , Mickey thought, wishing he could threaten the words aloud. But he didn't he just kept silent and stared at Carl, hoping the guy would notice him.

"I got the injuries wh–" he stopped because he'd noticed Mickey then. His eyes zeroed in on where Mickey was sitting in the back row of the room and he just froze. Mickey smiled, deliberately slowly, his expression cruel and dangerous. He rubbed his bottom lip with his forefinger, not blinking as he stared the guy in the stand down.

Mickey tiled his head from side to side slowly, cracking his neck and Carl flinched.

"We have already aid that we do not wish to press charges on the matter," he said quickly, in a slightly panicked voice, "We do not want to comment on it and simply wish for it to be forgotten."

And after that they really couldn't get any more information out of him.

The judge called for a ten-minute recess why the conferred or whatever the fuck it was they did and as the O'Connor brothers walked past him to exit the room, led and wheeled by three cops, one of which was Tony, Mickey made sure he said in a low voice, "Consider yourself dead meat."

He knew from the way they tensed that they'd heard him.

Outside the room, Mickey didn't walk up to speak to Ian, because he was being flocked by his family and a few other people. Mickey just hovered there on the edge of it all, not needing anything else, because when he did catch Ian's eye, the redhead's relieved expression was enough to chase away anything else Mickey would have needed to talk to him about.

He didn't listen to the decision that was made, because it didn't matter. The O'Connor brothers didn't seem to be listening either, just sat and stood shaking at the front of the room. Because they knew like Mickey did that no matter what sentence they were given, they might as well been being sent to death row, because they were dead men walking.

Or in Jason's case, not so much walking.

They knew it and Mickey knew it and there wasn't a thing anybody could do to stop it. Not even Ian.

Everybody was happy and talkative on the way back to the hospital and while Fiona sat up in the front of the minibus, Mickey let Ian take his hand, threading their fingers together, so many unspoken words being communicated between them.

Everybody seemed to be over the moon on Ian's behalf, because Firecrotch didn't look particularly happy. He didn't look unhappy either. It was more a mixture of relief and tiredness that filled his expression. Mickey could sort of understand that.

The weight of all of the joy though was well and truly pushing down on Mickey though by the time they got back into the hospital. He knew Ian understood why he said he had to go piss once they'd got Ian settled on the bed again. He promised he'd be back before practically bolting from the room.

He never made it back through the door though.

Fiona had been waiting for him, that much was obvious. He was surprised that she hadn't actually followed him on his way to the bathroom. Although honestly, all she would have seen was him having a smoke out the window because he was too lazy to walk down the stairs to have one outside.

"You can go now," she said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

He snorted, "I don't think so."

He didn't have the energy for this conversation, but he knew she wasn't going to let him past without him having listened to her first.

"Don't you get it?" she asked him, "The bad guys are locked up, they can't touch him anymore." She smirked at him, but it was also almost like she pitied him. "Ian doesn't need you hanging around now that they're gone, he can feel safe without you flaunting the fact you beat them up."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, hoping it came out firm, that her words weren't making him think, like they weren't making him wonder, "He wants me here, whether or not he fucking needs me, he wants me here."

He thought maybe if he repeated that to himself a couple of times he'd believe it.

Because there was always the knowledge of who he was, chipping away at him. He was Mickey Milkovich. He was good at beating people up, at stealing, scaring people and generally being a dick. He wasn't good at being any of the things Ian wanted, he didn't know how to be overly sweet or caring, would never want to admit that they were anything to each other, would probably always wind up hurting Ian.

And he would always be a fuck up. Even with two busted knees and no chance of getting into the army now, Ian would still be able to get out of this neighbourhood if he tried. He would still be able to be something. But Mickey couldn't. He didn't have any of those chances, he would probably be doing exactly the same thing in twenty years as he was now. If he lived that long and didn't wind up in the slammer.

"You think he really knows what he feels?" she asked, her tone sharp, brutal and cruel, "You think this is anything but dependence. He isn't your friend Mickey, you don't have friends, people like you don't deserve them, certainly not ones like Ian. When he's better, when he sees that he doesn't have to depend on a fuck-up like you, you're going to be gone." Her lips twisted into an expression Mickey often used, that was a little pure contempt and a whole lot confidence. "Just quit while your ahead and fucking leave, before you drag him down with you."

Mickey had always had thick skin, but it wasn't like other blows people had dealt him. It was like Fiona was fashioning her own perfectly formed blades and aiming them right where she knew it would hurt. And it did hurt, it was like a sharp pain in his chest that spread outwards, setting him alight inside, making him burn.

It was the pain that choked him, but the anger that offered him the salvation he needed.

"Fuck you," he said, practically growling it at her, spitting the words out and wishing that he knew some way that he could make her hurt like he was. But he had to get out of there. It was like the truth was pressing in on him from all sides, trying to crush him, break him.

He didn't run, but he didn't exactly saunter out of there either. Mickey didn't know much of anything, never had done. He wasn't educated in the ways of the world, in common sense too much, or even in what was right and wrong. But he did know that he couldn't be in that hospital anymore. He knew that he needed a drink, that he was going to keep drinking until maybe his blood turned into alcohol.

Maybe then the thoughts in his head would start to make sense and maybe then the empty space in his chest wouldn't start to feel so empty. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He fucking hated that word,  _maybe_.


	14. Chapter 14

He waited.

Mickey had said he would be back, so he waited.

He stayed awake until it was physically impossible for him to keep his eyes open anymore, but he wasn't woken by a dip in the narrow bed and Mickey climbed on beside him, or by Mickey's soft snoring or the way he twitched slightly in the night sometimes. When he woke up in the morning, he thought Mickey had probably already left, even though it was too early for that to make sense, he let himself believe that.

Mickey didn't come that day either, or the next, or even the one after that.

By that time, even Ian had to admit that he'd gone and it felt like someone had punched a great big fucking hole through his chest. He only just registered when Fiona sat down beside him and that was only because he needed to know, he needed to ask.

"Where's Mickey?" he asked, his voice choked, broken, like a record that was scratched almost beyond repair yet played anyway. Emotions flickered across Fiona's face, too quickly for him to catch, but he understood anyway. "What did you do?" It wasn't even a question, it was a demand.

Because Mickey wasn't here, Mickey wasn't with him, Mickey was gone and it was her fault. She'd done something. She'd said something to him. She'd driven him away. She'd finally managed it.

And she had the gall to not even look remotely sorry. "It's for the best," she said, patting his hand in a way that was supposed to be comforting, "I got him to see that leaving you alone was what was best in the long run."

He didn't even care that she obviously thought she was doing the right thing, that this was for the best, that this was the right decision. It was like parts of him were switching off, like lights were going out in his brain and leaving him in the cold again.

He screamed. He was sure at first there were words, but eventually the words just melted into noise. Someone came in, asking where Mickey was, knowing Mickey could calm him down and the knowledge that Mickey wasn't going to be coming only made him scream harder. He would have screamed until his throat was raw, until his voice went just like the light had done, until the end came.

As it turned out, he only screamed until something sharp jabbed into his arm. After that, he just tumbled head long into the darkness. It felt like it was the oblivion and he sort of wished there would be some sort of numbness on the other wide if nothing else.


	15. Chapter 15

He tried to forget, tried to drown out his thoughts with alcohol until he threw up, until cheap booze was all he could taste on his tongue, until he forgot who he was, where he was and how the hell he'd gotten there. But he couldn't forget, because the memories stayed with him forever, like tattoos. He could forget everything else, anything else, but that face, that crop of ginger hair and the shit eating grin stayed with his no matter what. The feel of Ian's skin under his hands, the intense pleasure when Ian was buried balls deep inside of him, the taste of Ian's kiss, of his sweat, blood and come, the way his eyelids fluttered as he slept. He couldn't forget any of it.

And God knows he tried to forget.

Lip found him under the El, sitting in the dirt with his head back against the freezing concrete, a half-empty bottle of vodka clutched in his hand and a scowl on his face. "Mickey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Mickey scowled up at the intrusion, squinting to see who it was his vision blurring and swimming. When he saw the face, he looked away quickly. "Fuck off, Gallagher," he barked and he would have gotten up to walk away, but he was pretty sure he'd forgotten how to walk.

He was surprised when Lip grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled their faces close together. "You fucking left him," he said, angrier than Mickey could actually remember ever seeing him, "You know how much he needs you and you still fucking left him."

Mickey pushed him away roughly, not quite drunk enough to be incapable of defending himself, but when he tried to push himself to his feet he realised that yeah, walking was out of the question. "He'll be fine," Mickey said, waving in a general direction that was supposed to indicate the hospital, "He's probably having a fucking laugh right now, he doesn't need me, nobody fucking needs me."

Fiona's words were still swimming around his brain. He couldn't forget those either.

"Yeah, he's having so much fun that he's had to be sedated this entire time," Lip said, his tone harsh and Mickey knew he was scowling at him. He wanted to see his face, to try and tell if he was lying, but he couldn't. He couldn't see properly. "Oh yeah, Mickey,  _sedated_ ," he repeated, like he knew Mickey was suddenly a lot more interested than before, "Otherwise he screams, constantly, like these last few months haven't even happened."

Hands grabbed him and dragged him to his feet and he didn't have the willpower to complain.

"That's not right," Mickey muttered, leaning heavily against Lip with an arm clung around the other boy's shoulders. For some reason he remembered when they'd first got drunk together, back when they'd used to be friends. The situation had been a lot like this, except Lip hadn't been mad at him and Mickey hadn't been heartbroken.

"Of course it's not fucking right," Lip snapped, tearing the bottle out of his grasp and Mickey heard it smash against the floor somewhere a little way again. He would have been annoyed about that, but he couldn't be bothered to be and he had other worries on his mind that some foul tasting vodka that he'd just lost. "I thought you were supposed to give a shit about him."

"Don't fucking tell me what I feel," Mickey retorted, which probably would have been more effective if he hadn't slurred the words and wasn't still leaning on the other boy for almost complete support.

Lip snorted, obviously unimpressed. "I will when you stop breaking my brother's heart," he replied, seeming a little less angry, not still not calm. They'd started to walk, although it was really more of an awkward slow stumble.

"Blame the bitch," Mickey muttered.

That made Lip stop and he twisted slightly to look Mickey in the face. "Who Fiona?" he asked and Mickey was actually impressed he'd picked up on that so quickly, "You've fucking been listening to Fiona, who doesn't know jack shit about this situation?"

It did sound a little stupid if he thought about it, but he didn't want to think about it.

He nodded and then lurched to the side, throwing up on the ground. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand when he was done, spitting on the floor several times to try and get the taste from his mouth.

"That's actually disgusting," Lip commented, waiting a few more seconds to make sure he was done before pulling Mickey's arm around his shoulders again and resuming walking, "It's like you're turning into Frank."

Mickey screwed up his face into a grimace, "Ugh, fuck off."

Lip snorted, "Stop drinking like a fucking fish then and maybe I won't be able to make that comparison."

"I am never drinking again," Mickey muttered, the acrid taste of puke still in his mouth.

"Yeah whatever," Lip replied, "And I'm going to quit smoking."

They both knew neither things were going to happen. People like them in this sort of neighbourhood relied on three things: drugs, booze and cigarettes. It was as simple as that. And who were they to try and break the cycle?

"Right, just tell me once and for all, will you?" Lip asked when they were on the El. Mickey was slumped down in his seat, almost asleep. "Do you love him?" He kicked Mickey in the skin none to gently just to make sure he was paying attention to the question.

Mickey scowled at him, squinting as the world continually span around him as often horrifying angles. "Fuck off, like I'm telling you," he retorted, rubbing a hand across his mouth and taking another sip from the water Lip had gotten him. He'd eaten a packet of mints too, because even he knew his breath stank to high heaven.

"So that's a yes," Lip said, looking satisfied.

Mickey didn't have the energy to snap at him again for jumping to that conclusion.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Fiona demanded, trying to move over to intercept Mickey, which wouldn't actually be hard considering how he was pretty much still being completely supported by Lip. How the hell they'd been let into the hospital was a mystery. "I thought I told you to leave?" She moved close enough to smell him. "Are you drunk?" she looked to her brother, "Lip, is he drunk?"

Mickey didn't turn to look, but he thought Lip was nodded. "Yeah, pissed out of his fucking mind," he said, "But just don't argue with this Fiona, just let them be, they need each other."

And if she said anything to argue with that, Mickey didn't hear, because he chose that moment to lurch towards the bed. He sort of staggered over, needing to be closer to Ian, needing to see his face. He could hear him breathing, softly, shallowly and Mickey knew that meant he was sedated. He blinked down at the unconscious redhead a little stupidly, trying to clear his vision but in the end gave up.

"I'm back, Firecrotch," he muttered, bending low so that his lips were close to Ian's ear. Or at least that was what he meant to say, because he knew by now his words were slurred, barely recognisable. "I'm sorry."

With the alcohol making his brain as hazy as it was, he didn't think twice about clambering onto the bed beside Ian. He picked up Ian's arm and put it behind him, snuggling into Ian's side with an arm thrown over his waist and his face buried into his neck. He vaguely remembered Ian saying once that he got sort of clingy when he was ridiculously drunk and they were in bed together, but Mickey didn't really know if that had really been said or if he'd made it up in his own mind.

It was probably a minute or so before he fell asleep, a stupid fucking smile on his face. Thing was, he was definitely way too drunk to care about shit like that. He'd worry about it in the morning when he had the biggest fucking hangover anybody could have.


	16. Chapter 16

Ian thought he was imagining things, he honestly did. He thought it was the drugs that they'd had him doped up on for the past week, almost completely immobilising him. He didn't think he'd ever been unconscious for so long before. And it wasn't even like it was by his choice.

When he woke up this time, he didn't scream straight away, because he could feel something pinning him to the bed.

At first he thought they'd strapped him down, but then he realised it was limbs that were thrown across him, human warmth that weighed him down. Mickey – because he knew it was Mickey just by the feel of it – was wrapped around him like some sort of over-sized koala. His face was buried in Ian's neck, his breath tickling the skin right over his pulse and he had one hand placed over Ian's heart, his knee pushed up under Ian's elevated ones, basically nudging his ass.

Ian's arm was around Mickey, resting on his side, holding him in and he knew he must have done that in his sleep. He sort of liked that his body responded to the feel of Mickey's even when they were unconscious.

He could tell Mickey had been drinking, could smell it wafting off of him in waves. He could also tell that Mickey had been sick, because even under the scent of peppermint, he could detect it. Mickey was also fully clothed on the bed, complete with shoes and Ian could tell that he was dirty without even looking, could feel it rubbing off against his skin. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd last seen him on, which told Ian he hadn't showered since the day of the trial.

All that would have bothered most people, but Ian didn't care. It just made it more real, proved that Mickey really was there. Because honestly, Ian would have picked stinky, grimy Mickey over no Mickey any day of the week. Besides, a completely clean Mickey didn't sit quite right in his mind. He couldn't imagine it.

He smiled to himself and pressed his cheek into Mickey's hair. When he looked across the room, he saw Fiona staring at him, watching them, her expression unreadable. He wondered if she had been in here when Mickey had turned up, if Lip had been too, because he was slumped in a chair in the corner of the room, still asleep.

More importantly though, he wondered how Mickey was going to react when he woke up and saw them there.


	17. Chapter 17

_Fuck, my head_ , Mickey thought even at the same time as he though,  _Damn, I'm comfy_.

He couldn't ever imagine having a hangover quite as bad as the one he had now, the pain in his skull making him want to crawl into a hole and die. Except, he was really comfortable and everything smelt nice and familiar and Mickey would have been more than happy to die there if he had to die at all.

He didn't remember much, just drinking and Lip and crawling onto a bed beside Firecrotch.

_Ian._

He opened his eyes, wishing he hadn't when it felt like daggers slighting into his brain with every slither of light – some fucker had opened all of the blinds – but he remembered where he was and that sort of made up for it.

He ran a hand over Ian's chest, tracing patterns on it and knowing he was awake because he could tell the difference in his breathing between now and when he was asleep. He was ashamed to look up at him, ashamed to face up to the fact he'd run, that he'd left Ian. But he took it as a good sign that he wasn't being pushed off, that Ian's thumb was gently stroking a line across his shoulder.

Slowly, he eased up so that he could see Ian's face.

"You left," Ian said without looking at him, like he was afraid to.

"I know," Mickey didn't know what else to say, "I'm sorry."

There was a pause and Ian still didn't look at him, "Are you going to do it again?"

"Would you care if I did?"

"That's a stupid question." Ian finally looked at him and Mickey expected his eyes to narrow, to see anger or disappointment, but he didn't. He only saw pain. And somehow, that was a hell of a lot worse.

"I know."

There was another pause and Ian dug his fingers hard into Mickey's back, pressing them closer together. "Are you going to do it again?" he repeated, the need to know the answer obvious in his eyes.

"That's a stupid question," he said, because Mickey wasn't good at simple, completely truthful yes and no answers.

"I know," Ian admitted after a moment, his fingers sliding through Mickey's, gripping them tight and this time Mickey didn't complain or pull away. He didn't even consider it. "Next time you leave for a while, take me with you," he said, looking at Mickey in that stupid fucking way that Mickey hated because it both fixed and broke his heart all at the same time.

"That's be sorta difficult with all this metal and plaster on you," Mickey pointed out, not even able to simply say okay.

Ian shrugged, "Try anyway, okay?"

Mickey nodded, "Okay." There, he'd said it and the world hadn't imploded, but Ian was looking at him with too much emotion for Mickey to know how to deal with. It was like he was seeing directly into Mickey's soul and yet was smiling at what he found there.

Mickey kissed him to stop him looking like that, biting down on Ian's bottom lip, hard. He tasted like tears, toothpaste and blood and then that thing that was so completely Ian that it was impossible to describe.

Ian moaned into his open mouth and Mickey tried to swallow the sound, tried to let it fill up his heart. Fingers were buried in his hair, tugging almost painfully at the same time as they crushed his mouth closer to Ian's. Their tongues duelled, each one trying to dominate, control, but Mickey couldn't quite get ahead and neither could Ian.

He tore his hand out of Ian's to claw at the younger boy's back, almost frantically and in return, Ian's fingers slipped under the side of Mickey's shirt, digging into flesh. He sucked Ian's tongue into his mouth and actually adored the soft whimper he managed to draw from the other boy. Ian hadn't even made that sound when they were fucking, Mickey hadn't heard it before. He knew he was going to make it his mission now to work out how to get him to make it again without letting on how much he liked it.

"You two kiss like you're trying to kill each other," someone commented, reminding them that they weren't actually alone in the room, forcing them to draw apart. "That can't be enjoyable." Mickey would have been off that bed like a rocket if it hadn't been Lip who had spoken. Ian's fingers dug into him harder, like he thought Mickey was going to try and leave again.

Mickey looked over at the other Gallagher and licked the blood off of his lips, not knowing whether it was his or Ian's. It was probably both. "Your point?" he asked bluntly, gripping Ian back just as hard to silently let him know that he wasn't going anywhere.

Lip just shrugged, "Nothing, it's just brutal."

Mickey looked back down at Ian. "You mind brutal?" he asked, never actually ever having asking that before. He wasn't sure what he would have done if the answer had been yes. He wasn't sure he knew how to love any different than with it being right alongside the pain.

Because the pain was seductive, still painful, but seductive. Inflicting it seemed to feed some sort of addiction inside of him, but receiving it only did so even more. He didn't know if it was an addiction for Ian, or something else, something different, but he supposed it didn't really matter. The truth was in the end, that Mickey didn't know how to love without pain. The two came hand in hand.

In response, Ian bit down hard under Mickey's jaw, as quick as a snake, vicious enough to draw blood. Mickey saw Lip frown, his eyes widen a little and the expression was almost comical, but Mickey just moaned, feeling himself harden even more in his pants. "Hell no," Ian muttered in that deliciously raspy voice he sometimes got.

It was enough to drive Mickey insane.

Ian's fingertips traced a pattern on Mickey's forearm and they both looked over at Fiona at the same time, waiting for her to comment, to shout at Mickey, to say  _something_. But she didn't. She just watched them, noted their joined hands which of course made Mickey nervous and gradually the scowl on her face lessened.

She didn't look like she was planning on apologising for what she'd said any time fucking soon, but Mickey didn't really care about that.

"Mick?" Ian asked, drawing his attention back to him, "Can you do me one favour though?"

Mickey scowled slightly even though he knew that he would give Ian anything, just to convince him that he wasn't going to be taking off again. "Depends what it is," he said, as usual his thoughts not quite matching the words that came out of his mouth.

"Go have a shower," Ian told him, smiling innocently even though Mickey could tell it was fake, "You kind of smell."

And Mickey would have been offended, except he supposed that yeah, he probably did.

"There's a bathroom a few doors down the hall," Lip said in what he supposed was a helpful tone, except the bastard was smirking.

"No shit," Mickey muttered, pulling his fingers out of Ian's grip and swinging his legs off the bed. His head was still spinning and he had to sit there a moment to make sure he wasn't going to throw up. "You do know I fucking work here, right?"

Lip just shrugged, "Yeah, but with your aversion to hot water and soap I didn't know if you'd be aware of it or not."

"Fuck off," Mickey said quickly, annoyed when Ian laughed.

He caught the bag of stuff Lip tossed to him, forgetting that he'd actually left clothes here before he'd gone AWOL. He didn't say thank you because he thought it went without saying. Not even Mickey had any desire to spend a length of time wearing clothes that smelt of sick and God knows what else he'd gotten on them from wherever the hell he'd passed out.

The last week or so were still sort of blurry for him.

In a way he supposed that was a good thing.


	18. Chapter 18

Fiona only commented when Mickey had left the room.

"So how long's that been going on?" she asked, her tone as unreadable as her expression was. Ian couldn't tell if she was mad, disappointed, annoyed, confused or nothing at all. It was slightly unnerving the way she was just staring at him though.

He shrugged, he didn't actually know the exact date.

"You remember when he got shot?" he asked, "It was when Monica had turned up again and I was kind of freaking out and I went to Mickey because I needed a distraction and Kash caught us fucking in the walk in fridge in the back of the store and then shot Mickey."

He could see her digesting this, could see the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

"We fucked for the first time probably a few months before that," he explained.

"And the second time he went to Juvie?" she asked, "Did you have something to do with that too?"

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, knowing she wasn't going to like what he had to say, but also knowing that there was no way he was getting out of telling her. "Um, well Frank sort of walked in on us and Mickey started freaking out thinking that Frank was going to tell everybody and Mickey thought his dad would find out and kill us," he still didn't know whether Mickey's dad actually would have that reaction to finding out his son was gay. He'd decided a while ago he didn't even want to find out. "So Mickey thought that the only way to solve the problem was to kill Frank, he even got his brothers involved and everything although I don't think they knew what they were killing him for."

Fiona frowned. "But Frank's still alive," she said, stating the obvious, "So he got put in Juvie for attempting to kill him."

Ian shook his head, hating that he now had Lip's full attention as well because he hadn't even told Lip this. "No, I begged him not to," he said, sighing even though he didn't quite know why, "And in the end he figured that if his Dad was going to find out, he'd be safer in Juvie, so he punched a cop in the face."

Mickey had begrudgingly explained his reasoning when Ian had visited him in Juvie. It had taken a while, but Ian had finally got the courage to do it. He'd fully been expecting Mickey to tell him to fuck off, but he hadn't done. Well, not in a way that he actually meant it anyway.

"So let me get this straight," she said slowly, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him, "Kash knows, Frank knows and I'm guessing Lip you know too." Lip nodded. "Great, how many other people know that you and Mickey were fucking?"

"Mandy," he said after a minute, having to think about it because it really wasn't a very long list, especially not considering how long they had been fucking for, "The nurse, Lizzie thinks we're a couple and I guess Monica knows even though the extent of it is just that I was fucking someone who wound up in Juvie."

Fiona's should deepened at the mention of Monica and Ian started to wonder if it was permanently set into her face now.

"And you didn't think you could tell me?" she asked and Ian could see that he'd hurt her, that she was offended that he didn't trust her enough to tell her that. And he felt bad for keeping her in the dark, but it wasn't like he hadn't had his reasons. And it also wasn't like it was just his decision to make.

"Fiona, I only told Lip because he pulled the 'when have I ever let you down' card out on me and everybody else found out by quite literally walking in on us," he explained, wanting her to understand, hating the expression on her face but really not knowing how well he was going to succeed, "And I didn't tell Monica before you yell at me for that one, Frank did."

Her expression softened a little bit, but she still seemed hurt. "You could have told me," she said, "When I was asking you why he was here, telling you that it was never going to happen because Mickey was straight, you could have told me then."

Ian was sort of glad when Lip jumped in then.

"Fi, to be fair you made it pretty clear how much you hated Mickey," he said, using his placating voice that made it clear he was trying not to take sides, "So it's really not all that surprising that he didn't tell you and it's Mickey's secret as well."

"I still think I deserved to know that my brother and the neighbourhood thug are a couple," she said.

They all caught the way Ian flinched.

"We're not a couple," he said quickly, but then realised how that sounded, "Well I mean, we've never really defined it, not like that and please  _God_  don't call us a couple in front of Mickey, you'll only freak him out."

He didn't want to give Mickey an excuse to run for the hills again. If the ex-con heard that people were referring to them as a couple, he would definitely do exactly that. One of these days they really were going to have to sit down and talk about what they were to each other, but Ian was planning on leaving that conversation for when he was out of the hospital. For when he could follow if Mickey ran away.

"He's not using you is he?" Fiona asked, frowning at him, but it was in a concerned sort of way this time.

Ian opened his mouth to tell her no, but Lip beat him to it.

He snorted, "Fi, I found the guy pissed sitting under the El because you'd gotten it into his head that Ian didn't want or need him anymore, I really don't think you could say he's  _using_  Ian for anything."

"I still think you could do better," she said honestly, but it wasn't with the usual venom she had in her tone when she was slagging off Mickey, "But I promise I won't try and throw him out again as long as he's treating you right."

Ian grinned, "He is."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Lip clicked his fingers loudly. "The bite!" he said, looking pleased with himself even though the other two both frowned at him. "That mark you had under your jaw that I said looked like a bite mark," he elaborated, motioning to Ian's face as he spoke, "That was from him, wasn't it?"

Fiona looked a little appalled, but Ian just smiled and nodded, "Yeah, he likes doing stuff like that."

"Why?" she asked, obviously not understanding why Ian would put up with stuff like that.

"Well to be fair I mark him just as much, when we fuck he has hand-shaped bruises on his hips," he said, laughing at Lip's disgusted expression that made it quite clear Ian should have kept that piece of information to himself, "But I don't really know why we do it, I guess it's to sort of show that we belong to someone."  _Even if we won't let admit it out loud,_ he tagged on as an afterthought in his own mind.

Ian rubbed a hand across his jaw and smiled to himself, because he could smell Mickey all over his hands and clothes. He sometimes found it weird to think that just something as simple as being able to smell Mickey on himself could make him happy, that it could relax him and calm him down. The first time they'd fucked, Ian hadn't expected any of this and not just the gay bashing part, but the part where Mickey Milkovich would actually turn out to be a person he wanted to depend on.

Mickey was a lot of things. He was a dick ninety nine per cent of the time, he refused to let people in, wasn't ashamed of who he was as long as he was only admitting it to himself or Ian, was quite possibly _the_  best fuck Ian was ever going to have. He was controlling outside of the bedroom and sometimes in, talked with his fists, overused sarcasm like there was no tomorrow, was terrified of his dad, protective of Mandy, smarter than he gave himself credit for and there was just something about him that every time he walked in the room made a part of Ian scream out, "Mine!"

He was a complete anomaly, unpredictable and dangerous, almost the complete opposite to Ian himself. And maybe that was why they worked, because they balanced each other out. Because neither of them had entered into whatever they had between them willing any expectations, intentions and not even completely willingly.

Sometimes he thought it was weird being in the hospital with Mickey there, because his entire relationship with Mickey was based on sex. They hadn't ever done stuff like go to the movies or just spend time with each other like any sort of couple, they got drunk or high and fucked, that was how it had always been.

But Ian had known Mickey had cared, in just the little things that happened.

He'd never expected him to turn up to the hospital and then practically never leave. He wasn't in any way disappointed that he had done, he couldn't even begin to make sense of how relieved he was that Mickey was there. He just couldn't help thinking that sometimes it seemed strange. But more than anything, it proved that they worked.

Sure there'd been a hand job and a blow job thrown in there and a whole lot of kisses, not a single one of them chaste, but it still proved that even without the sex they could work. Mickey didn't talk often, but Ian knew he always listened, even if he pretended like he was zoned out and didn't care.

What Ian knew Fiona would never understand though was why Ian trusted someone like Mickey, why he liked him. But then, she didn't see all sides of him, she only saw the bad parts. Like most people, she simply wasn't willing to accept that most of it, was just a façade. Even Mickey himself hadn't accepted that yet.


	19. Chapter 19

Mickey thought it said a lot that the showers in a hospital were actually better than the one he had at home. He pressed his forehead against the tiles and found that it actually felt good to be washing the grime off of his skin. The hot water was easing the tension that he hadn't known had existed in his shoulders and he found himself turning his face up into the water, eyes screwed shut, just savouring it.

And then he realised how fucking stupid that was and stopped.

He shut the water off and then shook himself a bit like a dog, wrapping a towel around his waist as the door opened.

The person, a nurse jumped at the sight of him standing there and her hand came up to cover her mouth, making her look like she was out of some stupid fucking cartoon. "Oh my god, I'm sorry," she said quickly, looking him up and down which he thought was annoying, "I didn't think anybody was going to be in here."

 _Well no shit_ , he thought.

"Yeah, the lock's fucked," he replied, because he could see that she wanted him to say something. He thought if he did she might leave quicker.

"And you still showered?" she asked, looking surprised that he'd be willing to do that with a broken lock on the door.

"Well I ain't no prude," he said simply, because it was true. With his room the only way anybody could get through into the bathroom, all chance at modesty had completely gone out of the window. He'd stopped caring a long time ago about who saw him naked. "And I fuckin' stank so. . ." He didn't know how to finish that sentence so didn't bother.

He thought she'd leave it at that and piss off, but instead she smiled at him. "You work here, don't you?" she asked, "I've seen you around quite a lot on a few of the other floors, I've only just moved to working on this one."

He nodded, really not caring.

"I'm Lacey by the way," she said, holding out her hand which he thought was stupid considering he was half naked and they weren't forty-year-olds, they shouldn't be shaking hands. She didn't look that much older than him either, which made it even more stupid.

He took it though, shaking it quickly and then dropped it like a hot potato, scratching his stomach. "Mickey," he replied, chewing his bottom lip, he was uncomfortable just standing there, but she didn't look like she was planning on leaving any time soon and Lizzie would have his head if he made another one of the nurses cry.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mickey," she said, smiling at him and he thought she must have been dropped on her head as a kid, because nobody was ever pleased to meet him. He ever saw her eyes take in the tattoos on his knuckles, but she just kept smiling. "So, do you visit someone on this floor?" she asked, "I see you coming up here a lot and not always in your work clothes."

He just nodded because right now she was sounding like some sort of fucking stalker.

"Is it your girlfriend then?" she asked, "That you're visiting?"

"It's a guy," he said, wanting to tell her to mind her own Goddamn business, but remembering what had happened the last time he'd told a nurse to do that, "So no."

"Ahh okay, your brother?"

"No."

"Oh just your friend then," she said, still smiling and he let her jump to that conclusion, "Sorry, I'm being a bit nosey here, aren't I?"

Since she'd asked the question, he decided to be truthful, "A bit."

She blushed and unlike when Ian did it, it wasn't cute or anything remotely like that.

"Sorry," she said quickly and he thought she'd leave it at that, that she'd leave him the hell alone before he resorted to being horrible to her and then getting his ass grilled by Lizzie. She had a sharp tongue on her when she wanted to.

Mickey rubbed his thumb over his lip, waiting.

"Have you heard that guy who's been screaming all week?" she asked suddenly, the expression on her face making it clear she thought this topic would interest him, "It's such a horrible noise, the poor guy's had to be sedated almost constantly, I have no fucking clue what he's screaming about though, bless him, Lizzie won't tell me."

Mickey flinched, unable to help himself. "Good," he said, perhaps a little harshly because her face fell immediately, but at that moment he didn't really care, "Because it really isn't anybody's fucking business, if he wants to scream he can scream."

He scowled at her, daring her to challenge what he was saying.

"Oh my god, that's the person you're visiting, isn't it?" she said, her hand going back over her mouth again, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, well and truly bored of her being there now, that and he was getting cold, "Can you leave me to get dressed now?"

She flinched, "Shit yeah, sorry."

She couldn't seem to get out of the room fast enough, shutting the door behind her.

Rolling his eyes at nothing in particular, Mickey dried off and dressed in some at least relatively clean clothes. He splashed some cold water on his face before he walked out, trying to stop the wave of nausea that came over him.

He was really considering never drinking again.

"Good to have you back, Mickey," Lizzie said when she spotted him, nothing but honesty in her voice which sort of unnerved him, "You scared us a bit taking off like that, we didn't know how the hell to calm Ian down other than keep him sedated."

Mickey flinched, the guilt setting in before he could stop it. "Do I even want to know if I still have a job or not?" he asked, to change the subject.

She grinned broadly, reminding him a little of Firecrotch. "If anyone asks, your Uncle just died and you two were really close," she said, handing him a box of painkillers and then walking off before he even had a chance to digest what had just happened.

He decided not to think too much about it, because he quite simply didn't understand people who randomly did good deeds. If he thought about it, he was only going to make his headache worse. That made him glad for the painkillers though, because there was only so much a hot shower could do to kill a hangover.

Typically, Fiona was blocking his path into Ian's room, the door closed so that nobody could hear the conversation she no doubt intended to have with him. He couldn't really say he was looking forwards to it. He didn't need her judging him, he had enough people doing that in the world already.

"I'm not going to apologise to you," she said when he stopped in front of her.

He shrugged, "Never thought for a second you were fucking going to."

She scowled at him a little, but he did notice that it was lacking in its usual venom. "I still don't think you're good enough for him," she said simply, completely unashamed to be voicing her opinion and he sort of admired that, "I still don't like you."

Mickey shrugged, pushing his hands into the very depths of his pockets and bunching up his fists there. "I don't really care what you think," he said in the same matter-of-fact, honest tone that she was using, "And neither does Ian, apparently, not on this." He was actually amazed that he was being so calm.

He was even more amazed when he managed to simply leave the argument at that before stepping around her and opening the door into the other room. Before going back to  _his_  Gallagher.

Mickey sort of hated himself for the relieved look on Ian's face when he walked back into the room, like the younger boy had been doubting whether or not Mickey would return. Mickey felt bad that Ian seemed to have lost some faith in him, but he supposed it was probably a good thing in some ways. Because it anything, it meant his resolve to stay was stronger. He didn't fucking care what he had to put up with now, he was sticking around.

"You happy now?" he asked as he dropped down into his usual chair, "Or you want me to go put on aftershave or some shit like that?"

The annoying thing was that he knew he would if Ian asked him to.

Ian rolled his eyes, "Mick, you don't even fucking own any aftershave."

"How the fuck would you know?" he muttered, scowling, not even knowing why he was, "I could do."

"Yeah, but Mickey," Ian said, meeting his eyes, "You actually don't."

Mickey pulled a face at him. "Fuck off, I could nick some then," he muttered, "You sound like a fucking stalker, Gallagher, telling me what I do and don't own."

The redhead rolled his eyes, handing Mickey a glass of water so that he could pop the pills that Lizzie had given him.

"Had a fucking nurse walk in on me when I was in the shower," he said, not really knowing why but feeling like he should make some sort of attempt at conversation. Like that would make up for him leaving Ian or some shit. He knew it wouldn't do.

Ian's eyebrows flew up, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, a fucking chatty one too," he said, fishing around in the drawer of Ian's beside cabinet for the packet of cigarettes he knew should be there. They were and he took two out, tucking one behind his ear before digging a lighter out of his pocket for the other one. "She thought I wanted to have a bloody conversation with her or some shit while I was standing there in just a towel."

Ian smirked, "You know if you make another one of the nurses cry, Lizzie won't be happy?"

"Why do you think I'm so annoyed about it?" he asked in return, "I had to stand there and actually listen to her." Although that was admittedly a bit of an overstatement.

"Mickey, you can't smoke in here," Fiona said right as Mickey lit his cigarette.

He looked over at her as he handed the cigarette over to Ian. "Yeah we can," he replied, "I disconnected the smoke detector and Lizzie doesn't give a shit." Or at least if she did, she didn't say anything to try and stop them.

He lit the second cigarette for himself and blew the smoke at Ian.

"Was that why it smelt like weed in here the other day?" Lip asked, "I thought I was just imagining that."

"Yeah that was the night before we went to court," Ian said, tapping ash onto the floor, "We had some beers, smoked a bit before having a joint and then I sucked Mickey off until he screamed."

There was a moment where nobody said anything, everybody trying to work out whether or not he had actually said that as Ian innocently blew smoke up towards the ceiling. "I did not scream," Mickey said adamantly even though he couldn't actually remember because he thought he'd probably blacked out a little bit when it'd happened, at the same time as Lip asked, "What the fuck do they have you on that makes you think we want to know that?"

Fiona just stared at them.

Ian shrugged, flicking the end of his cigarette onto the floor. He was getting confident, almost too much so, but he was also revelling in the fact he could say stuff like that to the people in the room, people who were all in on the secret.

Mickey also knew he said it because to be completely honest, Ian was fucking bored and it was kind of amusing to see the expression on Lip's face. "You guys do know someone could walk in on you at like, any time, right?" he asked.

"Wouldn't be the first time it's happened," Mickey replied, shrugging.

"Or the second," Ian added, "And third time is the charm you know."

Mickey smirked and after that the conversation was more banter than anything else. But later on, when they were alone and Mickey climbed onto the bed beside Ian, he felt himself turn serious again. He didn't look at Ian when he spoke, he couldn't bring himself to and it wasn't necessary because he sat directly behind Ian, the redhead leaning back against his chest, Mickey's legs stretched out on either side of him. It was actually surprisingly comfortable and suited the fact that Mickey was considerably shorter than Ian.

"Hey Firecrotch, you don't fucking listen to me, do you?" he asked, his arms wrapped around Ian from behind, Ian's fingers stroking over the tattoos on his knuckles. Even though he couldn't see his face, he could sense Ian frown.

Mickey put his face into the side of Ian's neck, nipping at his skin and relishing the taste of it under his tongue. "Or did you just not believe me when I said I'd always fucking come back?" he asked, running his tongue up the side of his neck to behind Gallagher's ear before tracing the path back down again.

Ian didn't say anything, but then Mickey hadn't expected him to.

"Because I meant it," he said in the same low voice, pulling Ian harder against him, "I've given up thinking I could stay away from you for any real length of time." And he really had, but normally he wouldn't admit that to Ian.

He blamed the amount of painkillers he'd taken to kill his hangover for the moment of honesty.

They didn't say anything else, but Mickey knew he didn't imagine Ian twisting around and pressing a kiss to the underside of Mickey's jaw when he thought the ex-con was asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

It was weird.

One morning Mickey went off to work and by the time he dropped back into Ian's room later on in the afternoon, the casts off Ian's legs had gone. His legs looked almost unnaturally thin, large scars running up the inside of his thighs and circling his kneecaps. They were a mess and he could tell from the way that Ian had an IV hooked up into his arm feeding him painkillers and how he wasn't really moving his legs even though he now could that they hurt like a bitch.

Fiona and the other female Gallagher were there, Debbie or whatever her name was and they both looked up when he walked in. He nodded to them in some lame attempt to be polite and frowned when the younger one actually smiled at him. He thought maybe she'd been told about him and Ian, which pissed him off for all of a few seconds before he remembered what Ian had said about Debbie genuinely being the nice out of all of them.

He didn't smile back though and the kid didn't seem to be expecting him to, so that was fine.

"I will repeat what I have said before," he said, sitting down in his usual chair, "You really need a burger."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Go get me one then," he replied.

Mickey scoffed. "You've got legs, you can get one your fucking self," he replied and had to stuff his hands into his pockets because he could hardly resist the urge to reach out and touch Ian's legs. They looked so strange, and not because they were scarred, but because he'd gotten so used to seeing them in cast.

"The casts came off, Mick, it doesn't mean I can fucking walk yet," Ian told him and Mickey could see the pain in his eyes when he admitted that, "I have to start physical therapy and learn how to cope with my new knees."

He looked so pleased. . . not.

"Well look on the bright side, Ian," his sister Debbie said, grinning at him, "Soon you'll be able to leave this room."

Mickey snorted, "Yeah and we can go through the whole fucking experience of him getting excited over a corridor."

Ian blushed slightly, which Mickey liked. "Shut up," he muttered, "You try only seeing one room for months on end."

"No thank you," he replied, chewing the side of his thumb, "I'd really rather not."

"Yeah, funny that."

Lizzie walked into the room then and she looked genuinely pleased when she sat Ian's bare legs. "Congrats, mate," she said, pulling her clipboard against her chest, "You got your casts taken off!"  
Ian nodded a little sheepishly, looking like he wished everybody would stop thinking it was some great thing. Mickey knew he was pleased at the progress, but the fact it was going to be a while before he'd be able to move around efficiently was sort of overshadowing it, Mickey could tell.

"You can start getting up to go to the bathroom soon once your physical therapist clears it," she said, smiling at him, "It'll actually be really good for your legs if you start trying to walk there and back."

Ian returned her smile, but it was strained, making it obvious he really didn't like this topic of conversation, "Yeah."

Mickey frowned, feeling stupid for not wondering before. "Hold on, how the fuck were you pissing before then?" he asked, scowling at that area of Ian's body like that would help him work it out.

The blush that rose to Ian's cheeks was adorable and so fucking stupid. "I'm not telling you," he replied, a little sharply if Mickey thought about it, "You don't need to know." And that made Mickey laugh, because the guy was actually pouting right now, trying to look anywhere but Mickey.

"Oh come on, Gallagher!" he said, "Just tell me, I won't say anything."

They both knew he would.

"Yes you will," Ian replied, calling him out. The redhead looked at Lizzie sternly, "And don't you tell him either." She mimed zipping shut her lips, locking them and throwing away the key. "If you want to know so bad, you can fucking Google it, but I refuse to tell you."

"Not even if I brought you a burger?" Mickey asked, because they both knew Mickey wouldn't be bothered to Google it.

Ian shook his head adamantly, "Not even if you brought me a burger."

Ian started physical therapy the next day and Mickey was asked to be there to make sure he stayed calm. He sat in the corner of the room out of the way and watched while some woman that they didn't know went through some exercises Ian had to do, most of which involved somebody gently bending his legs for him to try and build up the muscles in his legs again.

Mickey hated how Ian's expression twisted into one of pain and then utter determination when the woman was bending his knees for him. Mickey wanted to go over and take his hand at some points and at others he wanted to push the woman off. But he didn't, he stayed put, because he knew this was necessary.

Every time Ian's eyes flickered over towards him, he made sure to either look bored or reassuring, not worried like he really was. He wasn't sure how well he was pulling it off if he was being honest.

"You need to do at least one set of those each day," she told Ian, writing something down on a clipboard, "But don't push it and try and do too many because you'll only make the situation worse." He looked at Ian sternly and then at Mickey, like he was responsible for the redhead. "Make sure you do that and then I'll see you in a few days."

Ian nodded, muttering, "Thank you."

He only really relaxed when the woman left the room. His eyes were red and watery, like he was about to cry and Mickey was sitting on the edge of the bed before he even knew he had moved. "You want me to get you some painkillers?" he asked, wanting to prevent those tears from falling at all costs because it really freaked him out when Gallagher cried, "Then I could get a wheelchair and see if we can give you a change in scenery."

The calming,  _nice_  words didn't sound quite right coming out of his mouth and judging on the way Ian smirked, he didn't think so either. He nodded, obviously not trusting his voice and Mickey offered him a weak sort of smile before moving off to find Lizzie.

She was at her desk just outside Ian's room, talking to that other nurse Lacey or whatever the hell her name was who'd walked in on him in the bathroom the other day. "Hey Mick," Lizzie said, smiling at him, "How'd the physical therapy go?"

Mickey pulled a face, "Don't have anything to compare it to yet, but it obviously fucking hurt."

Her face contorted into an expression that was probably supposed to be full of sympathy. "You after some painkillers then?" she asked, already pulling some out from the desk, like she'd foreseen this.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "And you got a wheelchair, thought we'd see how fast I can push him down one of the corridors before someone swears at us." He just smirked at the incredulous look the other nurse, Lacey gave him.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Lizzie asked.

Mickey shrugged. "Fuck knows," he said honestly, "But the guy needs a change of fucking scenery and it'll stop him feeling sorry for himself or whatever the fuck it is he's doing right now."

She laughed, "You're full of heart, you know that right Mick?"

"Yeah, I have my moments," he replied, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth, "So, you got a wheelchair we can use or what?" He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting and normally people would have been pissed off at his bluntness, but Lizzie just smiled. It made him know that she'd definitely been talking to fucking Ian about him when he wasn't there.

She pointed down the corridor, "There's on in that room down there."

"Thanks," he grunted, taking the box of painkillers she handed him, tucking them into his back pocket as he went to fetch the chair. He thought he might have been imagining it, but he could have sworn that someone was watching him as he went.

"Where are you wheeling me off to then?" Ian asked after Mickey lowered him into the chair. He watched Ian's face, seeing how he winced as his legs bent when he sat down. The pain seemed to subside when he stayed in that position though and Mickey just hoped his legs didn't fucking seize up or something, it'd be a bitch if he was stuck in that position.

Mickey shrugged. "No clue, we could have gone for a smoke, but it's fucking raining," he scowled out of the window, "So we might just have to settle for seeing how many people we can piss off getting you from here to the cafeteria."

He checked Ian's facial expression for signs that he wasn't okay with that plan.

The redhead just grinned in that stupid fucking way of his.

"Jesus, Gallagher," he muttered, "Calm down, what have I fucking told you about getting excited over pointless shit?"

"Fuck off," Ian replied, "I'm allowed to be pleased."

"Yeah, pleased, not excited over the idea of some crappy cake in a hospital cafeteria."

If it was possible – and it shouldn't have been fucking possible – Ian's grin widened. "Aww Mick," he said, putting his hand over his heart and making his expression intentionally soppy, "You're gonna buy me cake, that's sweet."

"Shut the fuck up before I tip you out of the Goddamn chair," Mickey told him, which of course made Lizzie laugh as they went past her, Mickey pushing Ian in the wheelchair because he knew he didn't have the patience to walk at the pace Ian would have wheeled himself at.

"That's real compassion there, Mick!" she called after them.

"Fuck off!" he shouted back.

He wouldn't admit it, but there was actually something sort of fun that Mickey found in pushing Ian as fast as he could down the emptier corridors of the hospital. People swore at them, some people laughed right along with Ian as they sailed on past, but admittedly most people swore. It made Mickey glad he wasn't wearing his work clothes because he probably would have definitely gotten fired.

One old lady with a walker actually shook her fist at them and in typical Milkovich fashion, Mickey told her to mind the fuck out of the way then. Ian looked at him in a sort of chiding way when he did that, but he also looked sort of pleased, like that was exactly what he expected from Mickey.

Mickey wasn't sure how he felt about that if he was being honest.

"Mickey?" someone tapped him on the shoulder as he stood in the queue in the cafeteria, nervous because it was busy and Mickey could practically feel the tension rolling off of Ian.

He turned around to see that nurse from the other day staring at him, Laura or Lacey or whatever. She looked nervous and it made him frown.

"I just wanted to say that I get why you bit my head off the other day," she said slowly, sounding like this was some sort of fucking speech that she'd practiced or something, "I know that it must annoy you to have people bringing up what happened to your friend, so I wanted to say I'm sorry."

That didn't stop Mickey frowning, at all.

"Um, it's okay," he said, not quite sure what it was that she expected from him.

"You two seem really close," she said, smiling, "Lizzie told me that you stay here almost every night to keep him company, I think it's really sweet."

He smiled back ever so slightly, not knowing what to say because he didn't respond to praise with anything other than sarcasm usually because people were never really serious when they complimented him on something. But she was, he could tell. And it sort of freaked him out.

"Yeah well, um, thanks," he said, frowning still and relieved when he got the opportunity to turn away and pay for Ian's stupid fucking cake and their coffees. He knew the chick, Lacey was following him when he walked back towards Ian and he pulled a face so that the redhead would know it wasn't intentional.

Ian laughed. "Guess what I just realised?" he asked, looking greedily at the cake that Mickey put down on the table. He didn't even wait for Mickey to answer, as usual, but Mickey didn't care. "I actually get to lie in a position other than my back, which is good because you know how I hate sleeping on my back."

Well, no actually he didn't, but he didn't say that.

"Firecrotch, what the fuck did we just say about you getting excited for no fucking reason?" he asked and he could tell that Ian was excited because he was practically vibrating in his seat. He reached across and using the only fork he'd brought over with him, shovelled a sizable chunk of the cake into his mouth.

Ian's expression was one of complete outrage and Mickey thought it was fucking hilarious.

"What?" he asked innocently, although he knew he didn't pull off innocent very well.

"That's my fucking cake!" Ian replied, his mouth still hanging open.

Mickey smirked. "Last time I checked, I was the one who bought it," he replied, sucking the fork clean. The cake wasn't actually half bad, but he was eating it more because he loved how red Ian's face got when he was pissed off rather than out of actual hunger or desire to eat. "Besides, I really don't think you need any fucking sugar, you're hyper enough as it is."

He just laughed when Ian snatched the fork out of his hand and dragged the cake towards him, hunching over it like that would protect it. Mickey sat back and sipped his scalding coffee, smirking at Ian's happy expression when he licked his lips and Mickey found himself shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat.

"Hi, I'm Lacey, we haven't met yet," she said suddenly, drawing attention to the fact that she'd actually sat down at their table. She offered her hand out to Ian and Mickey saw him tense and eye it warily.

"Ian," he said after a minute, shaking her hand and frowning at her slightly.

"Oh yeah, I know," she said, "I'm a nurse on your floor, we haven't met yet though because Lizzie always handles your room."

Ian nodded and his eyes flickered towards Mickey. Mickey smirked, because he could see that just like him, Ian didn't understand what the hell this girl was doing talking to them. It didn't make sense. There was friendly and then there was. . .  _this_. "Cool," he replied, but then they were saved from having to say anything else when Mandy of all people appeared.

She literally threw herself as Ian, almost knocking him over in the wheelchair had Mickey not hooked his foot in the wheel. "Oh my God, I can't believe you're out of that room!" she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and leaving a lipstick mark there that Ian hastily rubbed off, "This means you're doing better, right?"

"Not shit," Mickey said, rolling his eyes.

"Who the fuck asked you?" Mandy retorted, slapping him around the back of the head and almost making him choke on his coffee. "This does mean your better, doesn't it?" she asked, looking at Ian while giving Mickey the finger that clearly meant he wasn't to comment.

Ian smiled and Mickey knew it was because this was reminding him of before Ian got put in the hospital, back when they'd both kept sneaking off into Mickey's room to fuck while Fiona made food or something.

Mickey sort of missed those days, but at the same time he didn't.

"Yeah it means I'm doing better," Ian told her, "I should be able to walk soon, but right now they just have me doing some stupid exercises to build up the muscles in my legs."

"Can I see your scars?" she asked, grinning.

Mickey wanted to hit her, tensing slightly and only relaxing when Ian smirked, "Maybe."

"Who the fuck's she?" Mandy asked, frowning at Lacey as she sat down and stole Mickey's coffee.

"A nurse," Mickey replied simply and then grabbed her wrist before she could take a sip from his coffee, "And get the fuck off my drink, you want one, buy it yourself."

She pouted, "Why the fuck not, I only want a bit?"

"Because I don't want lipstick on my fucking coffee."

"You'd share it with Ian," she complained, still pouting which he thought was stupid. Ian pulled the look off better.

He raised his eyebrows at her and then motioned towards Ian. "Do you see him wearing lipstick?" he asked.

She scowled at him, "You're a dick, Mickey."

"Says you, bitch," he retorted, "We're only having this conversation because you're too fucking lazy to get off your fat ass and get your own damn coffee."

"My ass is not fat!" she said, practically squealing and thumping him on the arm, "Ian, is my ass fat?"

Mickey snorted, like fuck was Ian the person to be asking that question.

"I'm not getting involved," he said, putting his hands up like someone was pointing a gun at him, but he was smirking.

"Some fucking boyfriend you are," Mandy muttered, stealing Ian's coffee instead.

"Oh, are you two together?" Lacey perked up at this, smiling like someone had asked for her opinion directly, "That's really sweet, you make a cute couple."

Mickey didn't know why the hell that annoyed him, but it did. "Couple probably isn't the way you'd really describe their relationship," he said and underneath the table someone kicked him. He suspected it was Mandy purely based on the fact Ian would have been grimacing in pain if it had been him.

"So who the fuck is she again?" Mandy asked, resting her head on Ian's shoulder for no other reason that she knew it would piss Mickey off. He tried not to let it show that it did. It was fucking stupid that it did.

"What are you deaf, I already told you," he replied, "She's a nurse."

Mandy rolled her eyes, "I can tell that much fuckwit."

"This is Lacey, she works on my floor," Ian put in helpfully since he knew Mickey and Mandy would only have carried on insulting each other and it probably would have ended up with them being thrown out of the cafeteria for something or other, "Lacey, this is Mickey's sister, Mandy."

"It's nice to meet you," Lacey said, smiling, but Mickey could see that she was taking in Mandy's slutty outfit, the nose ring and the several colours streaked through her hair. Mickey really wished that his sister would put some trousers on or something what she came to visit Ian, it wasn't like Ian was actually interested in her tits or ass, so he didn't see the point in her flaunting them.

"Yeah whatever," Mandy said, smiling so quickly not even Lacey could think it was a real smile, "Ian you will never guess what happened in school today." And then off she went, filling Ian in on all the gossip he'd missed and Mickey leant back in his chair, sipping his coffee and pretending to listen so that Lacey wouldn't try to talk to him, but really not hearing a fucking word.

It went on like that for over an hour, until Mickey had been through another coffee and a Snickers bar that he'd begrudgingly shared with Ian and then Mandy was leaving, saying she had to go off to some party or something, which Mickey supposed sort of did explain the outfit and the make-up.

Back in the room, Mickey didn't know why he did it, but before lifting Ian out of his chair, he pushed down on the handles, tipping it back so that Ian was staring up at him. His eyes were wide, his expression startled and Mickey didn't know why but he thought it was fucking hot. Because they were alone he didn't hesitate to press a quick, hard kiss to Ian's mouth, moving him back upright just as suddenly as he'd tipped him backwards.

Ian didn't stop fucking smiling that shit eating grin for the rest of the day and Mickey didn't know if that made him pleased or made him regret that he'd done that. In the end, he decided just to not worry about it, it was simpler.


	21. Chapter 21

He'd finished work and was almost at Ian's room, literally seconds away from having to do nothing other than relax and do absolutely nothing productive. He always wanted to tell Ian about the kid with the swollen head that he'd seen on the first floor.

"Your sister seems really nice," Lacey said, smiling, "You and her seem close."

Mickey frowned, "Yeah we're really not all that close and she isn't really very nice." Admittedly, him and Mandy were closer than any of his other siblings, but that was because his brothers were complete cunts rather than there being anything particularly amazing about Mandy. He supposed it did help that she was a girl and he felt the insane urge to look after her even though she blatantly didn't need it. Mandy was like any other Milkovich: a fighter through and through.

"Well that wasn't how it seemed," she said, not even appearing phased in the slightest, "I am confused though about something."

"Oh?" he asked, even though he really couldn't have cared less.

"If Mandy is Ian's girlfriend then why is it that you're the one staying at the hospital with him all the time?" she asked, looking at him through her lashes. She was about his height and he thought she just looked stupid trying to look up at him like that. "Or were you two friends first?" she asked before he even had a chance to think of what he was going to say, "Or is it because you already work here and it's easier, are you just here as a favour to her or are you and Ian really good friends, because you seem it actually."

He wished she had an off button. That would have been useful, some sure fire way of stopping the stream of pointless words coming out of her mouth. Of course, he could have just been horrible to her, but then there was the problem of Lizzie and being on Lizzie's good side was something he needed to that they could keep smoking in the room rather than having to go outside.

That and Lizzie was sort of scary when she was angry.

"Um. . . " he didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, especially considering it was basically going to have to be a blatant lie. Mandy and Ian weren't even really dating, not in any real sense of the term that anybody would understand, but how the hell was he supposed to explain that to a virtual stranger? He didn't even  _want_  to explain it to a virtual stranger, to anybody in fact.

He felt like tearing his hair out at the roots, wondered if that would help matters at all. It would make him seem crazy, unbalanced and she'd probably leave him alone then. Or actually, since she was a nurse she'd probably try and help him or something stupid. Put him in a loony bin with a load of people who were too insane to back down if he stabbed them with a fork over Jell-O. Not like in Juvie, he understood Juvie, he practically owned the place in there.

But he knew he wouldn't survive in a loony bin.

"Mickey!"

He tried not to sound so relieved when he heard Lizzie's voice.

"Mick, now that the casts are off Ian's legs, he has to have cream rubbed onto the scars to try and stop them from getting too bad," Lizzie explained, talking even as she was walking up to them, which he was kind of thankful for, because he was getting bored of Lacey talking to him.

"Okay, but how does this concern me?" he asked, "You want me to do it?"

She shook her head. "No, for some reason they say it has to be a nurse," she said, "But my shift's over now and Lacey here will be the one putting the cream on." She looked at him, obviously imploring him to understand. He did.

"Yeah, I can be there when you do it," he said, looking at both of them when he spoke, "I just finished work." He pulled a face and Lizzie smiled.

"I don't need supervising," Lacey said even though they'd already come to a decision, "I'm perfectly capable of putting some cream on a boy's legs." She looked sort of offended that they didn't think she could do that.

Mickey smirked.

"That's not what we meant," Lizzie said in a placating sort of way, like she was speaking to a child, "It's just that Ian doesn't know you and he's kind of funny about doctors looking at his knees so he'll probably react badly to you touching the scars there."

Lacey frowned, "I don't understand why that means Mickey has to be there, if he gets that bad he could just be sedated while I do it."

Mickey scowled, "There is no way you are fucking sedating him over some bloody cream." He hated how easily the nurses and doctors here were willing to sedate Ian. He hated how they immediately thought that was the best solution.

She looked a little put out at his anger, obviously not understand it, but Lizzie put her hand on his arm to try and calm him down.

"If Mickey is there, that won't need to happen," she explained to Lacey, "He can calm Ian down before it even gets to the point where you need to sedate him, we only do that if he screams and doesn't look like he's about to stop."

That didn't happen really anymore, which Mickey was glad about. He hated it when the redhead screamed, it freaked him out more than he would ever be willing to admit. Ian was even getting a little better about letting people touch him, but if he wasn't expecting it he still flinched and cringed away from the touch.

Unless it was Mickey.

Mickey knew it was a stupid thing to think, but he thought Ian could tell Mickey's touch apart from other people's, even when he was asleep. He liked to hope he could do, but then they didn't exactly sit down and talk about shit like that. There was no point.

Lacey nodded.

"Oh, and Mickey?" Lizzie asked just as she was about to turn away, "Will you stop letting Ian smoke, please?"

She was looking at him in that stupid chiding way, like he was a child.

"Why?" he asked, pushing his hands into his pockets, uncomfortable because he could see Lacey watching him, "It's not like it's gonna set off the fire alarms."

Lizzie gave him ' _the look'_  as Ian called it. Mickey had gotten worse off of Mandy and certainly had worse off Fiona, so it didn't really phase him. "That's not the point," she said, folding her arms over her chest, "What if you get caught?"

He shrugged.

"Mickey, if you get sent back to Juvie you know we're going to have to go through that whole sedation phase with Ian again," she said, staring at him in a way that made him squirm. It was like she'd put him under a microscope. "And I don't know about you, but I'd prefer not to go there again."

He flinched before he could stop himself.

"How about if I promise to stop bringing him weed?" he asked, smirking because he had to. If he didn't, he didn't know what his expression was going to be. Just at the mention of the screaming, Mickey could hear it ringing in his ears. He had to supress a shudder.

Lizzie stared at him for a minute. "Yeah I suppose I can settle for that," she said, shrugging, "But you have to get him to do his exercises."

Mickey pulled a face, "That would be easier to do if I gave him weed."

She rolled her eyes and patted him on the arm, "I'm sure you'll manage." She leant closer to him, her lips by his ear so that only he could hear her, "You just have to give him the right incentive and then I'm positive he'll do the exercises."

He chose not to respond to that.

"You were in Juvie?" Lacey asked when Lizzie had walked away and Mickey didn't know why the hell she sounded so surprised. He didn't exactly scream 'upstanding citizen'.

"Yeah," he replied, looking past her into Ian's room where the redhead was scowling at the TV, fiddling with the remote as he tried to find a channel, "Twice."

Her eyes widened a little bit, but he still didn't know why the fuck she was surprised. "Oh," she said softly, like she thought it would bother him to talk about it, "What did you do, to get you sent to Juvie I mean?"

He wasn't stupid, he'd known what she fucking meant but he didn't tell her that. He was too distracted watching Ian's facial expressions as he flicked through the channels. Lacey didn't seem to notice he wasn't paying her all that much attention. "Shop-lifting a fucking Snickers bar and punching a cop in the face," he replied, wondering when it wouldn't be deemed rude to walk away from this conversation.

"Did you get your tattoos in there?" she asked, motioning to his hands, which were still in his pockets.

"No."

She frowned, obviously a little bothered by his brisk tone, but as usual she didn't take the fucking hint. "When did you get them then?" she asked and he wanted to ask why the hell stupid shit like that mattered to her. Nobody ever fucking asking him about his tattoos, not even Ian who was the bloody King of pointless topics of conversation.

"No fucking clue, was high at the time," he replied and then side-stepped around her. "Hey douchebag, stop being a fussy bitch and pick a damn channel already," he said to Ian, throwing himself down in his usual chair, putting his feet up onto the bed.

Ian pulled a face at him and then threw him the remote. "You fucking pick then," he replied and Mickey could tell he was tense because of his physical therapy. Mickey hated that it hurt him to learn to do something as simple as walk again. Ian had always been running, active before this had all happened and Mickey could see it was bothering him that he may never quite get to that level of fitness again.

"How was work?" Ian asked, like they were some sort of domestic couple.

He snorted, "Amazing how quickly people become your best friend when they want something fucking cleaning up."

Mickey put on an old episode of Friends that was showing and Ian smirked. The redhead knew about Mickey's love for the show, even if he never admitted it. It wasn't quite as good as stuff like Supernatural, but Mickey still liked it. His excuse for watching it at home had always been that Mandy had put it on, which was usually true. Here though, Mickey didn't need excuses, not with Ian.

And that pissed him off.

"She likes you, you know?" Ian said randomly, breaking the silence, looking out the open doorway. Mickey followed his line of sight and Lacey turned around to smile at them.

He looked away quickly, "Fuck off."

"Why, it's true?" Ian replied, his expression unreadable, but Mickey could tell he was bothered by it.

"Gallagher, she doesn't have a dick," he said, perhaps a little harshly, but it annoyed him that Ian actually could be bothered by stupid shit like this, "It doesn't matter if she fucking likes me, I'm not interested."

There was a pause, "So if she did have a dick?"

Mickey groaned and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, hoping that maybe that would help stop this conversation. He took a deep breath and looked up at Ian, meeting his eyes. "Firecrotch, I like dick, primarily, your dick," he said slowly, like Ian was retarded and wouldn't be able to understand otherwise, "She and whoever else can like me all they fucking want, but it doesn't mean shit."

Ian frowned slightly and chewed his bottom lip, "So does that mean that we're  _not_  seeing other people?" He looked up at Mickey through his lashes and he looked so fucking adorable and stupid and nervous all at the same time that Mickey didn't know whether he wanted to punch him in the face or kiss his stupid mouth.

As it happened, he did neither, just chewed the side of his thumb.

"That's a stupid question, Gallagher," he replied, because really if Ian actually sat down and fucking thought about it, he'd see that it was a stupid question. "Why, do you want to see other people?" he was pretty confident of the answer, but he still had to ask.

Ian shook his head, "No, I'm happy with the one cock I've got."

"Well then," Mickey said, spitting a piece of skin he'd pulled off his finger onto the floor, because he was classy like that, "Stop fucking being a little bitch and worrying about pointless shit then."

"Okay," Ian said, that shit eating grin spreading across his face.

Only when Ian looked back at the TV did Mickey let himself smile, but only slightly.


	22. Chapter 22

They'd started off watching TV, but somehow it had turned into them throwing Skittles across the room and trying to catch them in their mouths. Ian's aim was better than Mickey's which of course pissed him off, but it was worse on Ian if he thought about it because the redhead was the one getting hit in the eye with flying skittles.

"Fuck, Mickey!" Ian cursed under his breath, rubbing his forehead where Mickey had made a particularly vicious shot, "And you wonder why they didn't fucking like you being on the baseball team when we were kids."

Mickey intentionally aimed anywhere on Gallagher's face but his mouth the next time. "Fuck you Firecrotch," he said harshly, propping his leg up on the bed and wincing slightly. He rubbed his thigh, digging his fingers into the muscle to see if that pain would try and distract him from the dull ache in his leg.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, watching him.

And Mickey hated the look of concern on Gallagher's face.

"Nothing, why the fuck would you think anything was wrong?" he asked, letting go of his thigh and tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. He really wanted a smoke, but Lizzie wasn't on duty and anybody else would only kick him out. Better yet though, he wished he could have gotten high, that would have got the ache out of his leg.

"Because you're pulling that face," Ian said and Mickey honestly didn't have a fucking clue what he was on about, "What's wrong?"

He glared at him, wishing it had some effect anymore, except judging by the way Ian just raised his eyebrows, Mickey wasn't so threatening anymore. "You can't do anything about it, Gallagher," he said, "My leg just aches when it gets cold, okay?"

His doctor had said it would happen, so he wasn't exactly shocked to find it aching.

"Because of what Kash did?"

Mickey rolled his eyes at the dramatic tone of Ian's voice. "Yeah," he replied, still staring up at the ceiling, "Now can you please fucking drop the subject, it's not worth talking about." He knew without even looking that Ian was rolling his eyes and he sort of hated how he could know that.

They were silent for a minute and Mickey considered whether it was worth it to walk all the way down two sets of stairs to have a cigarette. He was even considering having one right there and just standing by the window, but people were always in and out of Ian's room during the day.

"If you help me with my exercises we'd both be in the same boat," Ian suggested, "Then I could moan about my own legs and won't have time to comment on yours."

Mickey slowly tilted his head back down to stare at the redhead. "You couldn't have made that sound any fucking gayer, could you?"

That stupid blush crept across Ian's cheekbones and Mickey sort of wanted to punch him, but he didn't. "So you going to help me, or what?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at Mickey and looking so expectant that this time Mickey actually did reach over and punch him on the arm. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Stop looking at me like that," he muttered, taking his feet down off the bed and standing up, "It's fucking stupid."

Ian just smirked, but his face fell slightly when Mickey shrugged on his coat. "What are you doing?"

He sounded almost panicked and Mickey had actually thought they were past this, but then maybe him randomly taking off after the trial still hadn't been forgotten. It pissed him off that it hadn't been, pissed him off that he cared about how Gallagher felt. And even more, it pissed him off that Mickey actually felt guilty. Milkovichs do guilty unless they were being tried in court and then almost always were guilty; but hey, it was a family tradition.

Some families had going to Yale, the Milkovichs had jail.

"Calm the fuck down, will you," he said, simply going over to open the two windows in the room. The cold air that blasted in made him shiver, but it was about to get a whole lot worse for Ian. "I'm just giving you a little incentive," he told him, grabbing the top of his bedcovers and whipping them off before Ian could realise what he was doing. He tossed them in a chair across the room and then sat back down where he'd been before.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ian asked, wrapping his arms around himself, "I'm gonna die of hypothermia, is that what you want?"

Mickey chose not to comment on that one because they all knew the answer without him having to admit to it. "You want the window closed?" he asked, "The covers back?"

Ian nodded, as he'd known he would.

"Do it yourself then," he said, rocking back in his chair.

Ian glared at him, "Mickey, you know I can't walk yet," he said in that whiney voice Mickey fucking hated unless it was when they were messing about or fucking and he was begging for Mickey to do something. "You heard what they said, I have to take it slow, do my exercises otherwise I'll just set myself back."

Mickey wondered who he was trying to convince, because it sounded like Ian was talking to himself.

"Nah, that's just what they told you," he said, chewing the side of his thumb, "I overheard Lizzie and that physical therapy woman talking and apparently you're knees are strong enough, you just aren't quite there mentally to handle walking yet."

He wasn't supposed to have overheard that, he wasn't supposed to have overheard them, which meant Ian definitely wasn't supposed to know what they thought. But oh well, Mickey really didn't give a shit.

"But I figure all that mental strength crap is just bullshit," he said, watching the emotions flicker across Ian's face so quickly that he didn't have time to work any of them out. He only noticed the pain, but that was because it was so deeply rooted in Ian's eyes that it was impossible to miss. "There isn't anything fucking wrong with your head, so I just figured all you needed was an incentive."

Ian stared at him, "So you thought you'd try and freeze me to death, you really thought that would work?"

Mickey shrugged, "Yeah, thought that or the fact I will personally warm you up, might do the trick."

He pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth and stared Ian down.

"You sure this isn't just because your horny?" Ian asked.

Mickey rolled his eyes, "No, if it was just because I was horny you'd be the one sucking me off once you could walk, not the other way around." He decided he actually sort of loved the way Ian's eyes widened and he'd definitely missed the dopey sort of smile that appeared on Ian's face, Mickey didn't reciprocate very often when it came to giving head and it wasn't because he didn't like it, or that he wasn't any good at it, it was just that most of the time he'd rather be fucking so he didn't see the point in wasting time.

"Oh," he said softly, the word nothing more than a breath. He coughed and shifted uncomfortably, which made Mickey laugh because with no covers to hide his lower body, it was pretty obvious why he was fidgeting. "Will you help me?"

Mickey smirked, even though he knew exactly what he was talking about, "I told you, only if you walk."

"You knew I meant will you help me stand," Ian said, rolling his eyes, but still looking pleased with himself.

"Nah, actually I thought I'd just let you face plant the floor," he said, rubbing his bottom lip, "Don't ask stupid questions, Gallagher, it's a waste of fucking air." That and he didn't like answering them because it usually meant he had to try and say something nice.

Ian smirked and Mickey took that as the signal for help to start, but he just stood back and watched as Ian slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The expression on his face was horrible when his legs bent over the edge and Mickey started to think that this was maybe not such a good idea, but then he caught himself.

This was Gallagher, not only was he Irish and a redhead, but he was also a fucking Gallagher, that made him as stubborn as fuck and stronger than your average person. Especially when it came to bullshit like emotions. He could deal with a little bit of pain and it was about time he started walking because having to fetch a wheelchair every time he needed to pee was just annoying.

"I can do this," Ian muttered under his breath, which Mickey was sure he wasn't supposed to hear.

Really not wanting for Gallagher to fall and break his face, Mickey reached out and wrapped his fingers around the redhead's forearms, gripping tight enough to bruise, but also tight enough to prove that he wasn't going to let go. Ian smiled as him weakly and Mickey knew he would have just said there all day, trying to think up reasons not to stand, so Mickey made the decision for him and pulled.

Since Ian's feet were already on the floor, when Mickey tugged on his arms sharply, all that happened was he shot upright and sort of fell onto Mickey. And he wasn't complaining at the closeness, but it did feel too much like a hug for him to be even remotely comfortable. He moved his grip to Ian's elbows, wincing a little when the younger boy latched onto his arms as well. Mickey could feel his nails biting into his flesh even thought his coat.

Ian's breathing was stuttering, laboured and it was because of that that Mickey didn't push him away when Ian rested his forehead against his. When Mickey looked down he could see Ian's legs shaking slightly, but he was upright and mostly supporting his own weight so that was definitely something.

"I forgot how fucking tall you were," he muttered, because someone had to say something. The silence was practically deafening.

Ian laughed and seemed to relax a little. "I forgot how short you were," he replied, but it didn't sound like an insult. Mickey had a feeling he sort of liked being taller and besides, Mickey's view on the matter was that good things always came in small packages unless you were talking about dick size.

"Fuck off," he muttered, "I'm not short, you're just half giant or something fucking retarded like that."

And he would maintain that opinion until the day he died. Mickey Milkovich was not short, everybody else was just the wrong fucking size. He, unlike everyone else, was normal. At least that was what he told himself.

"You gonna actually move your feet then, or what?" he asked, changing the subject before Ian could call bullshit.

Ever so slowly, Ian inched one of his feet forwards and it was a shuffle, not an actual step and it made Mickey smirk. "If you want a blowjob, you're actually gonna have to bend your knee," he said, "I don't care if it fucking hurts, life's a bitch, you'll deal with it."

And maybe they weren't the best words of encouragement and maybe Fiona would have been swearing at him if she'd been there, but Mickey knew Ian didn't need mollycoddling right then. And Mickey wasn't much into that pampering shit anyway.

Plus, it made Ian move his feet properly.

Sometimes, being a dick really did work.

Ian winced as he took a real step forwards and Mickey moved with him until they were walking in a slightly retarded, really slow way, gradually heading towards the window. It wasn't about rushing, it was about making it at all and even Mickey with all of his impatience knew that. He could be patient sometimes, especially for Ian.

Only for Ian really if he thought about it. And he didn't want to think about it, so instead he focussed on not crashing into anything as they made their way over to the window. He did notice that Ian's expression relaxed a little the more they moved, like the pain was gradually fading away from his knees. He'd probably ache like a bitch in the morning, but it would be worth it.

Ian's triumphant grin when he pulled the second window closed made Mickey want to kiss him, which made him want to punch him, which he couldn't do because then Ian would just fall over, so in the end he just settled with, "Jesus Christ, Gallagher, calm down and let's get you back on the bed."

Of course, because he was a dick and knew Mickey's facial expressions, or maybe because he knew that Mickey wouldn't hit him at that moment because he couldn't let Ian go, Ian didn't hesitate to lean in and press a kiss to Mickey's mouth. It probably wasn't the best idea and not only because someone could walk in anytime, but also because their kisses never remained controlled.

Ian's tongue tangles with Mickey's and his arms slid around to wrap around his back. Mickey kept a firm hold on Ian's elbows, simply because he didn't know where else to put his hands. One of Ian's hands slid up his back to tug on his hair at the same time as the other one slipped down the back of Mickey's trousers.

Mickey didn't know what the fuck Ian thought he was doing, but Mickey lost all coherent thought when Ian's finger fluttered over his entrance. Maybe it was the happiness of actually being able to stand, maybe it was knowing what was going to come later, or maybe it was for no real reason at all. Mickey didn't know, but he didn't complain either.

He clutched Ian to him, hating how he knew that the world could fall right out from underneath them then and Mickey wouldn't have even noticed. He certainly wouldn't have cared. Not in the slightest.

When Ian's fingertip pushed in, the intrusion came with a sting of pain, but it was so amazing that Mickey had to tear his mouth away from Ian's and clamp his teeth down on the redhead's shoulder to muffle to sound that emerged from his throat. He could feel Ian smiling into his hair and Mickey didn't like that, didn't like that the younger boy had the control, so he took his hand from Ian's elbow and palmed his dick through his trousers.

And it had been so long for Ian. Mickey knew that and he couldn't help but feel sort of gleeful when the redhead sounded like he was literally choking on his own pleasure. He massaged Ian's dick through his trousers, wanting him to come now so that he'd last longer later, when Mickey sucked him off. And Mickey didn't know why he wanted it to drag out later, he wouldn't normally had, but he did then.

He squeezed and he knew Ian's eyes were rolling back into his skull.

The hand pulled away from his ass, instead gripping at him tightly, clutching at him in a desperate attempt to stay upright. Because as Ian came, his knees literally gave out and Mickey barked out a laugh as he caught him, swinging the younger boy up and making the two steps to the bed.

He felt like Gallagher's fucking mother or something as he stripped Ian's pyjama bottoms off of him, smiling at the sight of the wet patch. He stuffed it into the dirty clothing bag that Fiona had allocated ever since Ian had had the casts removed and had actually had to start wearing clothes again. He tossed a clean pair of boxers at Ian and had just thrown the covers back over him when the door opened.

Lacey shivered, rubbing her arms as she walked in through the door. "God, it's cold in here," she said, "Aren't you guys cold?"

"Not so much anymore," Mickey muttered and Ian punched him in the arm – which actually fucking hurt – looking embarrassed. He never would realise that he actually gave more away when he reacted than Mickey did when he made the jokes.

"I just have to put this cream on Ian's legs and then I'll be out of your hair," she said and Mickey didn't notice the smile she gave him, because he was watching Ian. He didn't know why, he just wanted to. He told himself it was the only fucking time he would be that sappy, but he sort of knew it wouldn't be.

It pissed him off that he knew it wouldn't be.


	23. Chapter 23

It was a complete fluke, a complete coincidence. That was the only way Mickey could really explain it.

He'd only gone home because Ian made a comment about his clothes being kind of disgusting and he'd also insisted he'd be fine doing a physical therapy session on his own, so Mickey went home. He never got to the changing clothes part though, because he heard the crying before he even got to his room.

It sort of reminded him of the time Mandy had set him on Ian, in fact it was exactly like that.

Mickey walked through the front door and ignored his father passed out on the couch. He didn't bother knocking, just went straight into Mandy's room because he knew if he asked permission she'd tell him to fuck off. And it wasn't like they ever asked to walk through his bedroom when they needed the bathroom.

She was curled up in a foetal position on the bed, the covers drawn up to try and hide her face, or maybe muffle her sobs so that she didn't wake up their dad. Mickey crouched down in front of her and in one of his more tender moments pushed back the mess of hair covering her face.

"Who?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She hiccupped and lifted her head slightly, letting him see the makeup smeared down her face. "L-Lip," she muttered, "B-but don't hurt him too bad." And if she was saying that, it meant that she really did like him, which really only made Mickey want to kill the fucker more.

"No promises," he replied in a low whisper before rising out of his crouch and rolling his head from side to side, cracking his neck.

It didn't matter that Lip was Ian's brother, didn't matter even that he was Ian's favourite brother, his best friend. The guy had still messed with Mandy, had still made his tough as nails sister cry. That made him dead meat as far as Mickey was concerned.

Besides, it had been a long time since Mickey had hit anything. He was looking forwards to it in a twisted sort of way.

He waited for Lip outside of his house, because he knew they guy only came to the hospital every other day and he'd visited Ian the day before, that meant he had to go home. So Mickey waited and when he saw Lip, he cracked his knuckles loudly.

Even though it was impossible for him to have heard the sound from that distance, Lip turned and his eyes met Mickey's. Mickey pushed away from the wall he was sitting on, taking his time walking because Lip had frozen in place. If he'd run, it only would have been worse.

"You're gonna beat me up, aren't you?" Lip asked, grimacing.

Mickey shrugged, "What can I say dude, I don't like people making my sister cry."

Lip flinched, like he didn't know it had gone that far. Mickey wondered for a moment what exactly had happened, but then that sort of shit didn't matter to him. His sister didn't cry over nothing and at the end of the day, no matter what the reasons, the person who made her cry had to get a beat down.

"Just do me one favour, because you're dating my brother," Lip said, taking a half step back, but seeming to know Mickey would find him anyway and it really would only get worse if he dragged it out, "Don't hit me in the dick."

Mickey smirked, "Yeah I can do that."

And then he punched Lip in the face.

To the guy's credit, he didn't just lay down and take it, he did fight back a bit, but Mickey was better. Fighting was Mickey's thing. He didn't stand a chance. Lip got one lucky shot in, splitting Mickey's bottom lip open, but Mickey ignored the bite of pain and dragged him close, head-butting the other boy hard.

He threw him away, watched him roll across the ground and then kicked him in the gut, hard.

It didn't last long, because fights never did. Not real fights where all the adrenaline burnt out after a few minutes if you were actually fighting properly. Mickey trapped Lip's hand under his foot and the other boy cried out when Mickey pushed down slightly.

"Now, normally I wouldn't bother saying this, because I wouldn't give a shit," he said, spitting blood out of his mouth, "But you're Ian's brother and Mandy asked me not to kill you, so that means she obviously gives a shit, so what you're gonna do is go find Mandy and make it right." He pressed down a little more, "But I swear to God if I find out she's cried again, I will crack your head on the sidewalk." He pressed down a little harder with his foot, but not hard enough that the bones in his hand would break, "Understand?"

"Yeah, you're coming through load and clear," Lip ground out through clenched teeth.

That was all Mickey had needed to hear, so he didn't fuck around with any more threats, just lifted his foot off Lip's hand and walked away.

He didn't want to go back home and have to see Mandy again, so without fulfilling Ian's request that he get a change of clothes, he headed straight back to the hospital.

Mickey was already in a bad mood when he made it to Ian's floor and he thought that was pretty fucking understandable, but Ian's shout of: "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" that could be heard even from the end of the corridor tipped him over the edge.

He crashed through the door, pushing past nurses who were also headed in that direction and didn't expect to find what he did. He didn't know what he even expected, but his anger didn't simmer down at all when he saw who it was that was standing by Ian's bed. If anything, it escalated even higher, because they had no right to be there as far as he was concerned. Absolutely none.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked, even though it was more of a demand.

Ian looked up at him with such relief in his expression, obviously calming down a little when he saw Mickey standing there, but that only made it worse. It only made Mickey's vision blur red and at the same time made him think he was going to be sick.

"I-I'm his mother," Monica stammered out, looking more than a little surprised to see Mickey standing there shouting that at her. He knew she had absolutely no fucking clue who he was, that probably only made her more confused as to why he was shouting at her.

He didn't care. He had no interest in sparing her feelings or any shit like that.

He snorted. "Yeah when it fucking suits you," he snapped, "You wouldn't know what motherhood was if it jumped up and bit you in the fucking ass, because you don't get to just waltz in and out of your kids' lives. You don't get to hurt them over and over again and expect for them to forgive you all the time."

Some part of his mind told him that the person he was, the person he sometimes felt like he pretended to be, would never do this. He wouldn't react like this. But he couldn't help it. Seeing Monica triggered every single protective instinct he had in him and if you coupled that with the fact he still had left over anger from what had happened with Lip, Mickey definitely wasn't in his right mind.

And maybe it also had something to do with how Mickey had a mother like Monica. One that just wandered in and out of his and his siblings' lives when it suited her. He knew how it felt. He knew it fucking hurt to be left by the one person who was supposed to love you unconditionally, no matter what.

"You don't understand," she said pathetically, "I have to."

"No you fucking don't," he snarled at her, the anger seeming to bubble up and spill out all over again, "You don't have to run, that's what you fucking choose to do. Because if you were a good mother, or even a good person you'd stick around, taking your meds and get help. Even a doped up mother is better than being abandoned."

"I didn't –" she looked pathetic trying to argue with him.

Mickey didn't know why, but it was that moment that he realised how she looked like Ian. He'd always heard that she had even if he'd never seen her up close and never even thought about it. He didn't know why he did then. All he knew was that that was where the similarities stopped between mother and son.

"You didn't abandon them?" he asked, snorting, " _Bullshit_ , what else would you call it?"

There wasn't anything else to call it.

"I – " She looked at Ian, like he would help her.

Ian was just watching them both, looking sort of shocked and sort of relieved all at the same time, like Mickey was saying words he'd never had the courage to say. Mickey had to admit that even though he knew it was stupid and so fucking gay, it felt good to vent on Ian's behalf.

"Just get out," he stepped to the side and pointed to the door, "Get out."

He'd had enough of looking at her and if he had, he knew Ian would definitely have done.

"You can't kick me out!" she protested, going from upset to frantic. It was like someone had thrown a switch inside her brain. "I'm his mother!"

"Haven't we just worked out that you don't deserve to call yourself that?" he snapped at her, "Haven't we  _just_  had that conversation?" He crossed his arms over his chest, "Now, get. . . out."

"I'm not leaving my son!" She took a half step towards Ian and Mickey saw him tuck his hands under the covers in case she reached for one of them. Quick thinking was his Gallagher. Mickey hated that he felt proud.

"You're son's been just fucking fine without you," he retorted, "And don't you think if he wanted you here he'd be smiling instead of screaming 'don't fucking touch me'? Don't you think he'd look pleased to see you?"

But she wasn't thinking, she probably never thought. She just acted, just turned up out of the blue and thought it was all going to be fine again. Mickey wished Mandy was there so that he could get her to slap Monica upside the head. He didn't hit women, which he thought was unfortunate. Although, he was that angry that he was considering making an exception.

The weirdest part for Mickey was that he knew his anger wasn't even really all that logical. It was like it had crept up on him out of nowhere and it felt too good, so he didn't particularly want to shake free of it. Not yet.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she asked, changing tact and he could see her anger poking through.

"Mickey Milkovich," he replied without flinching, because once you'd faced his father angry and drunk, you could face anything. Mickey knew that even she would recognise his name. Milkovich was a name everybody around here knew. "And you have thirty seconds to make a choice, leave, or force me to do something that I won't regret, but that will most likely violate my parole."

He was impressed that she actually made the right decision without seeming to have to think about it all that much. Or maybe that was just her fleeing instincts kicking in, after all, it was what she did best.

"I'll see you later, baby," she said to Ian, going to kiss him except he flinched away.

She looked a lot like Fiona when she glared at him as she walked past.

"Thank you," Ian mouthed at him when she's left the room and Mickey could see the tension visibly slide from Ian's body. He smiled and it wasn't that stupid shit eating grin or anything Mickey had ever seen on his face before. It was different. It kind of freaked him out, because he sort of loved it.

Mickey just nodded, he didn't have anything else to say.


	24. Chapter 24

All it had taken was that one grateful look, that one smile from Ian to make all of Mickey's anger dissipate. He hated that Ian had that sort of control over him, hated that someone could do that to him without even meaning to.

Ian didn't ask about his cut lip and he didn't question why Mickey hadn't actually changed clothes. It made Mickey wonder if he'd already heard what had happened, if Lip had already rang and told his brother what Mickey had done.

And Mickey wasn't sorry he had, he wasn't ashamed that he'd beaten Lip up for his sister. He never would be. He'd do it again if he had to. But he didn't like the thought of Ian making him walk away. And even more, he didn't like knowing that he didn't like that.

The redhead had his arm in a death grip as they slowly made it towards the bathroom. Ian hated using the walker they'd given him in physical therapy, because he said it made him look like a fucking elderly person. Which was actually true, it did, but it was still important that he actually exercised his new knees, so Mickey became the human crutch.

Even if they were reduced to a slow sort of shuffle, they made it in the end.

Lizzie had already run him a bath and Mickey sat in the room with him even though he knew that was really gay and it was uncomfortable sitting next to a naked Ian, because it was turning him on and he knew that he really couldn't do anything about it. The lock on the door still didn't work properly, which pissed Mickey off because otherwise they could get away with doing something in there.

The scars on Ian's legs were horrible and before he could stop himself, Mickey reached out and dipped his hand into the water, tracing one with his forefinger. Ian shivered and tensed and Mickey checked his expression to see if that was hurting him.

"You touch mine all the fucking time, Gallagher," he said, running his finger down the jagged length of it again, "So get used to it." Ian had a habit of grabbing the scar on Mickey's thigh when they were fucking, or tracing it when he thought Mickey was asleep sometimes afterwards.

"That's different," Ian said, pouting slightly, which Mickey thought was stupid, "Yours is only small."

Mickey rolled his eyes, "It isn't fucking different, a scar's a scar."

Ian scowled and so Mickey flicked water at him because he hated that expression.

He watched as Ian eventually lent back and he couldn't bring himself to stop touching the other boy. He wanted to remove his hand, wanted to go sit on the other side of the room where no one could accuse him of anything, but he  _couldn't_. He trailed his fingers up the inside of Ian's thigh and skimmed them over his hipbones.

He didn't understand how the fuck someone could have sexy hipbones.

"Mickey?"

He hadn't realised Ian had looked back up until he spoke, until his hand reached towards his face and gently touched his cut lip. And normally Mickey would have jerked away, but he didn't. He blamed the heat rising from the back and the fuzzy state his brain was left in after the anger had faded away. He blamed the way Ian was looking at him.

"What happened?" he asked, pressing his finger against the cut and Mickey loved the sting he felt, because it made it more real.

He wanted to snap that it didn't matter, that it wasn't Ian's business. But he couldn't, because it did and because it was. But he didn't know how to say it, didn't want to say it, which was stupid. He kept opening his mouth, willing words to just come, but they didn't. Each time, he shut his mouth again.

"Was she crying?" Ian asked softly and Mickey hated him for understanding. He hated him for knowing Mickey like that. He hated him for no reason and every reason there was. And at the same time, he didn't hate him at all.

Mickey closed his eyes when he nodded, because he didn't want to see Ian's face.

"Can he still walk?" Ian asked and Mickey could feel the redhead's breath one his cheek.

He still didn't open his eyes when he nodded again.

"Well okay then."

Mickey thought he could taste Ian's words and maybe he wasn't just imagining it, because Ian's mouth closed over his not even a second later. Ian's skin was damp, as was his hair as Mickey slid his fingers through the back of it. He stood up slightly as Ian's finger wrapped around the back of his head and pulled him closer. It was a little awkward to be hunched over the bath, Ian's fingers in his hair and on his face and both of his behind Ian's head.

He was lost in the kiss, he could admit that, at least to himself. He was working on deepening it, pushing his tongue into Ian's mouth, trying to stake his claim there. That was why he didn't feel Ian's hands sliding up around his back and that was why he didn't expect it when Ian pulled him forwards with a strength that he shouldn't have possessed.

Mickey crashed into the bath, his head hitting Ian's collarbone and water flooding into his mouth and lapping over the sides of the bath. He could hear it hitting the floor, could feel his clothes sticking to his flesh uncomfortably.

" _The_   _fuck_ ,  _Gallagher_?" he practically snarled, spitting out a mouthful of water and glaring down at the redhead. It made him sort of grateful that he'd put his wallet in his coat that day.

Ian grinned at him, looking like he was desperately holding in his laughter. And he still tried to pull off the innocent expression when he looked up at Mickey. "Now you don't have an excuse not to have a bath with me," he said, batting his eyelashes in a way that pissed Mickey off and made him twist Ian's nipple hard in retribution.

It kind of ruined it though when the younger boy moaned softly and arched up into the touch.

Rolling his eyes, Mickey clambered out of the tub awkwardly, turning the hot tap on for a minute to try and make up for the water that had splashed over the side. "You're an idiot," he muttered as he stripped off his soaking clothes, just dropping them in a heap on the floor. He'd wear something of Ian's when they'd finished, because Ian was right, he didn't really have an excuse anymore and his dick was sort of the only thing he was able to think with at that moment.

His dick wanted to have a bath with Ian.

There was still the matter of the broken lock on the door, so Mickey grabbed the chair from the corner of the room and jammed that up under the handle.

Mickey was perfectly happy to lie in between Ian's legs when he got into the bath, to feel Ian's dick nudging against his belly his hands roaming over his back. He bit Ian's nipple and swiped his tongue across his Adams apple. He sucked up a mark on one side of Ian's throat and bit down hard on the other side, pleased with the teeth marks he saw when he pulled back.

He propped his forearms either side of Ian's head on the rim of the bath and rose up to grind their dicks together, the friction making his eyes cross. Ian's nails dug into his ass as he pulled their crotches together and Mickey couldn't resist kissing him when the redhead's eyes slid half closed and he looked as sexy as hell.

All he wanted to do, all it seemed like he had ever been made to do was to bite and take and mark and claim Ian Gallagher. So that was what he did and he never wanted to stop, except the finger pushing into his ass and the way Ian sucked on his earlobe before he spoke sort of brought his mind to other things.

"They tested me," Ian said in his ear, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but the raspy quality his voice had was almost Mickey's undoing, "I'm clean of everything." He didn't need to ask about Mickey, because they both knew he was fanatical when it came to shit like this. He refused to be the stereotype in any way.

Mickey's only response was to push back into Ian's hand at the same time as he snaked his hand down between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around Ian's dick, running his thumb across the head. He didn't think he was capable of words, but he knew if he had any hope of speaking, it had to be then.

The finger in his ass was already making him forget his own name.

"Ian," he choked out, straightening his arms so that he could look the younger boy in the eyes, "We don't have to. . . you don't have to. . . I know that. . . I'm fine with. . .  _oh fuck_." Ian pushed another finger into his ass. He scissored them before twisting them and Mickey let his head fall back against Ian's shoulder, pressing his mouth against his flesh to try and muffle his moan.

"Oh trust me," Ian muttered in that raspy fucking voice in Mickey's ear, "We have to, I want to."  
And to emphasise his point he put a third finger into Mickey and Mickey felt like he was about to spontaneously combust or something because it felt so fucking good. Ian kissed him, sucking on his tongue as his fingers found Mickey's prostate and almost brought him over the edge.  _Almost_. He knew Ian was doing intentionally, knew the redhead knew actually how far he could push Mickey until he unwound.

He pulled his fingers from Mickey's ass and Mickey felt like crying from the loss of it, but the feel of Ian's bruising touch on his legs, pulling up his knees until Mickey was straddling Ian's hips. Ian raised his knees slightly behind Mickey and when he winced, Mickey bent down and flicked his tongue over Ian's jaw, following a droplet of water as it ran down his neck to try and distract him. Judging by the way Ian's breath stuttered in his chest, Mickey thought it worked.

Ian's hands on his hips lifted Mickey up, positioned him just right and Mickey could feel the very tip of Ian's dick nudging against him, but not pushing inside. They looked at each other and Mickey knew the redhead was thinking exactly the same thing as he was. They hadn't done it like this before, hardly ever face to face and certainly not with Mickey in control. But then they'd never gone this slowly before. It had always been a ridiculously fast-paced thing. Clothes were shed, dicks were grabbed, condoms rolled on and then Ian was slamming home. All that could happen in a minute or so and how long it actually lasted overall depended on how long it had been for the both of them. Sometimes it wasn't very long, sometimes it was a while, but it was always this relentless pounding that was everything Mickey felt he needed and more.

But this, this was different. This was so completely different.

Not only wasn't there a condom, but things had been said that made it more real, made it mean something because neither of them could deny anything anymore. But some things hadn't changed. Their touches were still more bruising than not, there were still teeth marks in Ian's shoulder and the rest of the world oblivious outside of the room. They were still – mostly – a secret and everything was still unpredictable and erratic and so unpractised that in a way each move had to have been planned.

It was still the best Mickey had ever felt even if he wouldn't admit it.

Ian held him there for a moment, in position, waiting and then with absolutely no warning at all, slammed Mickey down, literally spearing him on his dick. Mickey had to jam a fist his mouth so that nobody could hear his scream.

Ian's expression was one of complete ecstasy, his eyes closed and his head tipped back as water slopped over the sides of the bath and onto the floor. Mickey thought he looked stupidly gorgeous like that and he scowled at the redhead for that reason.

The fingers on Mickey's hips were doing nothing more than resting there and that was why Mickey planted his hands on Ian's chest and took control, slowly sliding up and down on Ian's dick, testing it out. It was the best thing he'd ever felt. He knew he wasn't going to last long, but he wanted Ian to be right there with him when he came.

He dug his fingernails into Ian's chest to make him open his eyes.

Mickey almost cried out when Ian's hands tightened again on his hips, hard enough to leave bruises and he knew his eyes rolled back into his skull when Ian somehow rotated his hips underneath him.

Ian grabbed his chin and kissed Mickey hard and they bit each other's lips, trying to pull each other closer together and Ian rose up until they were chest to chest, until it felt like their hearts were beating against each other.

It was Ian who came first, his nails digging into Mickey's hips, clawing at his flesh and it was that bit of pain that sent Mickey toppling over the edge. The noise he made wasn't anything he'd ever made before, but Ian swallowed the sound, their mouths still crushed together, their kissing frantic, sloppy, too desperate for either of them to be able to make any sense of it at all.

Mickey could see stars dancing behind his eyelids and he squeezed his legs hard together either side of Ian's hips, trying to cling onto him in every way possible, because for that one moment he wanted to be weak enough to need to comfort Ian's touch unknowingly brought him.

They fell asleep like that, with Ian still inside of Mickey, his cheek resting against Ian's collarbone and Ian's palms resting flat on his back, the water turning cold around them.

He didn't know how much later it was that he walked out of the bathroom in nothing but the boxers Ian had been wearing underneath his pyjama bottoms when they'd walked from his room. There weren't many people around, which made him think that they had been in there a while.

He was actually glad about that though because while he had absolutely no confidence issues, he didn't want too many people seeing him wander around in a pair of boxers that fit just a little bit too tight.

Mickey knew his hair was soaking wet and actually so was his skin and it made it pretty obvious he hadn't just been sitting across the room. Lizzie raised her eyebrows at him when he walked past and the other nurse Lacey just stared at him.

"Don't fucking ask," Mickey said, glaring at Lizzie.

She looked like she wanted to as she laughed at him, "I thought Ian was the one taking the bath?"

He pulled a face at her, "Shut up, I fell in."

Which was sort of true. . . sort of.

"And can I ask where you're going now?" she asked him, enjoying this way too much, but if he was being completely honest Mickey was far too fucking relaxed to care.

He carried on walking, emerging back out of Ian's room pushing the wheelchair, "Ian doesn't want to walk back."

"I bet he doesn't," Lizzie muttered and Mickey flipped her off. She was as annoying as his fucking sister.

When Mickey ducked back into the bathroom to collect his redheaded Gallagher, Mickey tried to ignore the way that the other nurse, Lacey was staring at him. It sort of made him wish that she'd actually catch on that he didn't bat for her team; but only sort of. Just because he wished she would guess, did not mean he was willing to tell her.


	25. Chapter 25

"Mickey?"

Mickey didn't even bother opening his eyes, didn't roll over either, just stayed where he was on his front. The nurse, the new one, Lacey had thought she was being helpful by sparing Mickey the pain of having to sleep in a chair, so she'd organised for a bed to be brought into Ian's room that during the day they could collapse the legs on and slide it under Ian's. They couldn't really say anything without giving away the fact that Mickey didn't actually sleep in the chair at night, so the bed had stayed.

"What?" he asked when Ian didn't say anything else.

"What's your mum like?" he asked, his voice quiet but still seeming loud in the silence of the room. For a minute or two there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, while Mickey decided whether or not he actually wanted to answer that.

He knew what had brought the question on, knew it was Monica reappearing again and the stress of that, but just because he understood didn't mean he liked the question being asking.

"She's a bitch," he said harshly after a minute, punching the pillow underneath his head into a better shape even though he'd actually been comfortable before, "She drops in and out once every few months because she thinks she owes us clean washing once in a while or some shit like that." He shrugged even though Ian couldn't see him and it was sort of awkward while lying on his front. He wanted to try and pretend none of it mattered to him.

"What was she like before she left?" Ian asked, like he thought Mickey wanted to talk about this, or maybe needed to or something, when really they both knew it was Ian trying to find something to cling to that made Monica less of a horrible mother.

He rolled over onto his back and glared up at the ceiling. "All I really remember was that she was always clean," he muttered, the words sounding forced because that was what they were, "We never had much of a relationship, she thinks exactly the same thing about me as my Dad does, that I was somehow necessary for them to get Mandy."

Mickey was the one nobody really cared about. He was the one that was overlooked and forgotten, because he was nothing to them. Mandy was everything, the others were something, Mickey was nothing.

They'd never hesitated to tell him that.

"I could get away with anything because it was like I wasn't even there," he added when Ian didn't say anything, "My brothers only paid attention to me when they were bored or wanted something, my Dad only when he was drunk, but Mandy was sort of the exception."

It was the reason he looked after her, the reason he'd kill for her.

She'd never overlooked him. Sure, she thought he was an idiot and most of their conversations consisted of insults, but Mandy was the one who visited him when they were in Juvie, it was her who noticed that he was even gone in the first place. That was pretty much the only reason he overlooked the fact she borrowed his clothes to sleep in, his stuff without asking and constantly took the piss out of him for not bathing often enough.

"I remember when your Mum left," Ian said randomly and Mickey would have called him a liar, would have contradicted him on that, but he couldn't, it wasn't possible, because he could tell that Ian wasn't lying.

"What the fuck you talking about Gallagher?" he asked, probably in a much snappier tone than was necessary, but he couldn't help it, it was a sensitive subject and his lip was throbbing like a bitch.

He heard the rustle of bed sheets and Ian's face appeared above him because the bed Mickey was lying on was closer to the ground than his. He propped his head up on his elbow and rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes.

"I remember when she left," he repeated, chewing his bottom lip for a moment, like he didn't know whether or not Mickey actually wanted him to keep talking. Mickey didn't know whether or not he did either. "I don't know if it was the first time, but she drove off in this crappy car and then you came storming out the back door and threw a bottle at the neighbour's house and I remember thinking that you were a freakishly angry person, but maybe this time you had a reason."

Mickey didn't completely know why, but he scowled.

"Yeah well, whatever," he said, because he didn't know what else to say but he knew the redhead was waiting for him to say something, anything, "My mum's a bitch, you're mum's definitely got a screw loose and life can just be fucking unfair."

_But what could you do?_

Ian's hand dropped over the edge of the bed and brushed across his face and Mickey twitched away from it automatically. As the hand withdrew, he caught Ian's smile and thought that maybe his Gallagher had a screw loose as well.

"Thanks for setting Monica straight, anyway," he muttered, his eyes holding Mickey's until the ex-con just couldn't look anymore. He couldn't take the way Ian was staring at him, he didn't like him thanking him, he didn't like any of this.

Except maybe he sort of did.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, flipping back over onto his front, turning his face away from Ian, "You can always count on me to be a fucking dick." Everybody knew that.

Mickey shivered when he felt Ian's fingertips against his back.


	26. Chapter 26

Ian waved him away again in the morning to make him get some fresh clothes. And he would have complained, except he'd had to resort to wearing Ian's stuff that had been left there because his only clothes were still soaking wet – he wondered who's fault that was!

It was the day he finished work early anyway, so it wasn't really any great inconvenience to run home. He wished he'd stayed at the hospital when he got there though.

He should have been paying more attention, he wished he'd been paying more attention. He didn't know why he wasn't, he didn't even know what else he was thinking about, but he didn't see the car parked outside that wasn't normally there. He didn't think about why there wasn't a pile of rubbish in front of the house, or why his dad wasn't passed out on the couch like he normally was.

He wished he'd thought about all of that, he really did.

"You don't stay here very much anymore, do you?"

Mickey froze at the sound of her voice, thought about trying to block it out of his mind. He also thought that it was just fucking ironic that she was here, of all days that she would turn up now. "Great detective work there mum, you're a fucking genius," he sneered, deciding it wouldn't really be possible to ignore her, because if the bitch was talking to him, it meant she'd only follow him around until he answered.

"Where've you been staying then?" she asked, ignoring what he'd said and pretending like she fucking cared or something. They both knew she didn't.

He walked through into his room and tipped open his bag onto the floor, shaking out the clothes. He then stuffed anything that didn't smell too bad into it again. "Hospital," he said vaguely, because she didn't have any fucking right to know his business, "Visiting a friend."

She snorted, "More like you're found a convenient place to get high and can't be bothered to come home too often."

He shrugged, "Believe what the fuck you want, I don't care."

He really didn't.

He could count the number of things he cared about on one hand and the fact one of them was a drug sort of said something about Mickey himself.

"So you won't care if I tag along then?" she asked, and it was practically a sneer. It was like a challenge, out there and in the open because they both knew she didn't believe him and they also both knew she was nothing but bored.

That was the only reason she was talking to him, not motherly instinct or because she gave a shit, but because she was bored.

"You're gonna do whatever the fuck you want anyway," he retorted, going into Mandy's room and grabbing his jumper off the bed that he knew she'd been fucking sleeping in. He also found his scarf under a pile of her girly crap and his stolen IPod in her make-up bag.

She was a fucking nightmare. He supposed she was probably quite enjoying the fact that he wasn't there.

She ignored his comment, "Mandy said you went back to Juvie."

He rolled his eyes,  _why the fuck did she care?_

"Yeah, thanks so much for coming to pick me up, Mum," he said, grabbing a few cans of beers from the kitchen and stuffing them into his bag on top of his clothes. He was definitely going to need a drink after this encounter. He paused and looked back at her, "Oh no wait, that was Mandy."

Only Iggy was lucky enough for their mum to go pick him up, but then he was her precious little boy. Which for the record, Mickey thought was fucking ridiculous because not only was the guy a douche, but he was the biggest fucking idiot there was.

"Don't use that tone with me," she growled back at him, looking like she wanted to slap him around the back of the head, "I was busy and you were the one stupid enough to punch a fucking cop in the first place."

He'd had his reasons, she didn't deserve to know them.

"You going to the  _hospital_  now?" she asked, sarcasm laid on so thick that it made him flinch, "You do know that you don't actually have any friends, right Mickey?"

He smirked, "And what the fuck would you know about my life?"

He wound his scarf around his neck as he walked back out of the house, hating the fact that he could hear her following him.

"If you're so confident then, get in the car," she said, smirking when he turned back to look at her, "I'll drive you to the  _hospital_." And he would have just walked away, would have told her where she could stick it if she hadn't looked so fucking over-confident. She was so sure she was going to be right and Mickey was going to be wrong and that pissed him off, especially since this time, she wasn't right.

Not at all.

He shrugged his shoulders and made sure to slam the car's crappy door harder than necessary when he got in the passenger seat. He chewed the side of his thumb and stared out the window, neither of them talking as she drove. But every time he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, she was smirking.

To say his mum was a bitch was an understatement.

He thought it was fucking stupid how he felt better when he stepped into the hospital. It pissed him off how something about the way his feet traced the familiar path up to Ian's room without him even having to think calmed him down. Shit like that wasn't supposed to make him feel better, being near that redhead with the shit-eating grin was definitely  _not_  supposed to make him feel better.

But it did. It made him want to punch something.

"Hey Mickey," Lacey said to him when they came onto Ian's floor. She grinned at him, a clipboard hugged against her chest.

He just nodded in her direction. In fact, he barely even did that, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Right, look, there's Mickey, just walk as far as him and then we'll finish up."

Mickey's head snapped up at the sound of his name and he met the eyes of the physical therapist woman whose name he still hadn't been bothered to learn. Beside her, Ian was walking on his own, not even holding onto her arm, although she did look like she was prepared to reach out and grab him at the slightest sign he was faltering.

"Don't you actually have to try and bend your knees?" Mickey asked, smirking and rubbing a thumb across his bottom lip as he stopped and watched Ian slowly shuffle towards him.

"Fuck you," Ian retorted, "I'd like to see you have your fucking kneecaps replaced." He always got snappier when the pain was bad, but it amused Mickey more than anything else. He didn't know why, but he sort of like Ian when he was like this.

Made him seem a lot more like the Ian from before the attack.

"I'm too fucking badass for anyone to try and break them in the first place," he answered, lowering his voice a little since Ian was getting closer and it was pointless to shout. "You want me to wave a Snickers bar at you or something, give you some incentive?"

"Fuck you and your incentives," Ian shivered as he spoke and that made Mickey smirk.

Lizzie came to stand next to him, she glared at him, but there wasn't any venom in it. "Can you not be nice for even five minutes?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"No, not really," he replied truthfully.

She already had the chair ready for when Ian reached them and Mickey sort of wanted to say that they didn't need it, that he could just carry Gallagher to his bed or something, but that would have sounded really gay so instead he said nothing.

"What did you do to your face by the way?" she asked, frowning at him.

"He beat up my brother, Lip," Ian said before Mickey could even open his mouth.

Lizzie smacked him on the arm, hard. "What the hell did you do that for?" she asked, "Lip's a nice guy!"

Mickey shrugged, "Yeah, a nice guy who made my sister cry."

All rules went out the window when Mandy cried.

"And you've actually forgiven him for that?" she asked incredulously, looking at Ian.

The redhead's face contorted with pain and he actually bent his knee on the next step, but he stayed upright so that was something. "Eh, I did warn Lip not to mess with Mandy," he said, "It's common knowledge that you upset her you're a dead man." He smirked at Mickey, "Mickey even had it out for me at one point because of her."

Which of course had been the biggest fucking misunderstanding in the world, but oh well. Mickey had never even got a punch in, so it didn't really matter.

"How is that even possible?" Lizzie asked.

"Mandy lied when she set me on him," Mickey replied, shrugging, "But I didn't actually beat him up, so it's not like it's a big deal." Not to Mickey anyway, but then him and Ian had never actually thought about it.

Lizzie just rolled her eyes, but was distracted from no doubt giving Mickey a lecture when Ian reached them and dropped down into the waiting wheelchair.

"You do know the idea was that you changed your clothes, right?" Ian said, twisting around to look at Mickey and smirking. He'd obviously only just realised Mickey had changed now that he didn't have to concentrate on staying upright and wasn't distracted by the pain.

"Actually I was being fucking nice and not leaving your clothes in my room to never be seen again," he retorted, "But if you want to be fucking ungrateful I can chuck them out the window, it'd have pretty much the same effect."

Ian grinned, obviously liking the fact Mickey had made an attempt at consideration.

The expression on his face though was really making Mickey wish that he hadn't. "Don't make me tip you out of the fucking chair," he warned, "Cause I swear to God I will." And he really would. He'd tip Ian out of the chair, sit in it himself and force the redhead to walk to his bed. He was in a cruel sort of mood like that.

"You're such a lovely person," Lizzie muttered, elbowing him hard in the ribs as she wheeled Ian past.

Ian stuck his tongue out as he looked back over his shoulder, so Mickey flipped him off.

The redhead had literally just settled back onto the bed when Lacey walked in with his lunch. "Ooh Jell-O," Mickey snagged it off the tray as she walked past and fell down into his usual chair.

Lizzie looked like she was about to take it off him, but Ian put a hand on her arm. "I wouldn't, the last person who tried to do that got stabbed with a fork," he warned, smirking at Mickey, "I still can't believe you actually did that."

Mickey shrugged and stuck his finger into the pot, lifting some up into his mouth. "Why, I warned you I would?" he said, finding it tempting to close his eyes in bliss as he sucked up a mouthful of the Jell-O. He didn't, but he considered it. He could literally eat Jell-O all day.

"Mickey, for fuck's sake use a fucking spoon or something!"

He tensed at the sound of his mother's voice from the doorway. He'd actually sort of forgotten that she was there. He wished she wasn't. He stared directly at her as he tipped up the pot and with a loud slurping noise, sucked up more Jell-O.

She scowled at him and so he smirked as he wiped his hand across the back of his mouth.

"So he actually has a friend," she said, moving to the foot of Ian's bed and staring at him like he was some sort of exhibit. It was stupid that Mickey actually hated her more for doing that than he ever had for doing anything to him. "You do know you can do a hell of a lot better than him, right?"

And Mickey was pretty sure mothers weren't supposed to say that, he was pretty sure they weren't even supposed to think it. Of course, his mother had just burned the rule book where he was concerned.

Ian's features morphed into a frown as he stared at the woman in front of him.

"The point is having a friend, not wishing they were better," Ian told her, amazingly keeping his voice level. Or maybe he wasn't pissed off at her at all. Mickey was sort of offended that he wasn't, or maybe the defending against mothers thing only really went one way.

It wasn't like Mickey needed defending anyway. It wasn't like he wanted defending.

"Besides," Ian said, shrugging, "Mickey's not my friend, he's my best friend and he's actually a pretty fucking great one."

Mickey stared at him, caught off guard by that. He hadn't even thought of them as being friends, but he supposed they kind of were. In a weird way. Of course they weren't friends, they were. . .  _boyfriends_. Fuck! Mickey hadn't actually realised that before, but the conversation they'd had about them not seeing other people did actually sort of give it a title. Even if it was just a title that only they knew, it still freaked Mickey the fuck out.

And not just because it was Ian and it confirmed to anybody who fucking knew that Mickey was a) definitely gay and b) actually had fucking feelings; but Mickey also hadn't actually ever been anyone's boyfriend. Never. As in,  _never,_ never. He'd fucked people, girls and boys, but he'd never been on a date, he'd never been in a relationship and he'd never wanted to be. Because he was Mickey Milkovich and he didn't do that.

Except apparently now, he kind of did.

Mickey put the half-eaten Jell-O back onto Ian's tray and stood up suddenly. "I'm gonna go have a smoke," he announced, wincing at Ian in a way that it was supposed to communicate that it wasn't anything personal, he just had to get out of there.

Away from his mother.

"Kay, but bring me back something edible," he replied, pushing around the mush on his plate with his fork, "I don't think I can eat this."

Not even Mickey thought he could eat that and Mickey would eat literally anything.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, not looking at his mother as he practically ran from the room. He only felt a little bit bad that he'd left Ian there with the she-devil.


	27. Chapter 27

"Why do you hate him?" Ian asked, staring at Mickey's mother and thinking that actually she looked quite like her son. In a more feminine way, obviously.

He'd already made up his mind that he didn't like her. To put it bluntly, she was a bitch.

She stared at him for a minute, "You're a Gallagher, aren't you?"

He nodded, "Yeah." He was surprised she knew that if he was being honest. He couldn't remember her, not really, but then it had been Lip who had been friends with Mickey, not him.

"I knew your mother," she said, sitting down in the chair Mickey had vacated without even asking if it was alright. Ian only flinched slightly at her proximity, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything. "Got with her a few times, actually."

She smirked, this piece of information obviously intended to freak Ian the fuck out.

"W-What?"

It worked.

She laughed, "Oh yeah, why'd you think I left, couldn't keep pretending and certainly had no reason to being with a guy like Terry, so I figured it was best to cut and run." She chewed the side of her thumb and reminded him a hell of a lot of Mickey.

"Do any of them know?" he asked, not sure why she was telling him this.

She snorted, "Are you fucking kidding me, Terry would kill me if he found out I was actually a dyke."

Ian didn't know why he winced at her harsh was of phrasing that. Or maybe it was because that was one piece of information he definitely knew to be a fact. Terry Milkovich's hatred of gays was something Mickey had used to remind him of every single fucking day since Frank found out and he got out of Juvie that second time.

"So why are you telling me?" he asked.

She shrugged. "No clue," she admitted, "Especially since you'll only tell Mickey and he'll tell his fucking father."

"He wouldn't," Ian said with complete confidence.

"Oh he would," she said, scratching her head.

"Trust me, I know he wouldn't."

Mickey wouldn't ever use the word ' _gay'_  anywhere near Terry Milkovich for the fear it gave the man some sort of epiphany or something.

"You think you know him," she said harshly, "But you don't."

"I know him better than you do."

"Doubt it," she said.

"I don't." And he didn't not at all. Nobody knew Mickey like he did, because Mickey didn't ever let anyone in, hadn't intentionally let Ian in actually. It had just sort of happened. "Why do you hate Mickey?" he asked again, because he was actually curious to know the answer.

Whether it really was just because he'd only been necessary for them to create Mandy.

What Ian also didn't get was why the hell this woman in front of him would have six kids with a man she wasn't even attracted to? Ian knew he wouldn't ever be able to bring himself to sleep with a woman. It just wasn't going to happen, he wasn't attracted to them and he never would be. Maybe it was different for girls.

Or maybe Mickey's mum was just that fucking weird.

"I don't hate him," she said, shrugging, "He's just one-dimensional, he's boring, there's nothing special about him."

Ian frowned. He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone call Mickey boring.

"You'd be surprised," he said, "Personally I think anyone that goes homicidal over Jell-O is pretty fucking interesting."

It was certainly one of a kind, that was for sure.

Ian couldn't imagine another person doing that.

She didn't comment on that. "What you in here for anyway?" she asked, obviously not thinking there seemed to be much wrong with him.

Ian didn't think there was anymore, but it was safe in the hospital, or at least he felt safe. So he wasn't in any rush for them to discharge him.

"Got beaten up by some guys," he said vaguely, not wanting to go into any details with a woman he didn't like. Because he's decided that he most definitely didn't like her, at all. It almost made it understandable why Mickey could be a bit iffy about emotions and why he was a dick most of the time.

His mother hadn't exactly set the best example and his dad most definitely hadn't done.

"They catch who did it?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mickey put one in intensive care and used a baseball bat on the other one's leg," he said, smiling because he still felt freakishly proud that Mickey had done that.

She looked surprised, "So you are friends then?"

"Yeah," he said, giving up trying to pick through his food, "We are actually."

She left not long after that without saying anything else. He couldn't say he was sorry to see her go or anything.

Mickey only reappeared about an hour later when Ian suspected he'd smoked all the cigarettes he had on him. He didn't say a word as he sat down in his usual chair, opening up his bag and cracking open a beer, draining it and another before he handed one over to Ian.

He didn't say anything and Ian didn't either, because he didn't really think there was anything he could say. He had a shitty mother, but Mickey really did take the cake when it came to his and Ian didn't even know if you could comfort someone when it came to stuff like that, especially not when that someone was Mickey who resisted all forms of comfort when he was in the best of moods.

So Ian reached over the side of the bed for the laptop Debbie had dropped off with him and waved a DVD at Mickey. He scooted over slightly and didn't expect Mickey to quite so obligingly sit down next to him.

Mickey pulled the covers over both of them even though it wasn't that cold in the room and they still didn't say anything. They didn't mean to because as they watched the movie, even whilst Mickey laughed at the parts Ian jumped at, underneath the covers, their fingers gripped each other's tight and Ian thought that maybe it was just times like these when words simply seemed to get in the way.

And after the movie had finished and Mickey had brought them up some half decent food from the cafeteria, after Lizzie had poked her head in to say she was leaving and the lights in their room were switched off, the curtains pulled closed, after thought they were about to go to sleep still without having said a word, he felt Mickey climb onto his bed.

It was too dark to really see much, but Ian didn't need to see, not when he felt Mickey slide underneath the covers, his hands pulled down the front of Ian's boxers.

Mickey had never been one to hesitate or to waste time, not when he knew there was something he could be doing. Which was why Ian didn't know what to think when Mickey paused, his breath hot on Ian's dick, hardening it without the older boy even having to touch it.

Ian thought he was going to shoot off the bed when Mickey's tongue traced the crease where his thigh met his groin. He bit gently, more gently than he usually did anyway and marked his trail across Ian's flesh to suck up a mark on his hipbone. Mickey's tongue trailed back down and Ian could feel his brain cells dying under sheer pleasure as Mickey gently sucked one of his balls into his hot mouth.

He couldn't help but reach down and tangle his finger's in Mickey's thick hair, pulling him in closer, shivering when the older boy moaned softly. It was the simplest things that could get a moan from Mickey and Ian loved the randomness of it, he loved that even Mickey didn't seem to be able to cling onto control for long.

When Mickey pulled back slightly Ian almost whimpered, dug his fingers into Mickey's scalp but didn't force him. Not that you could really force Mickey to do anything. It was all about coaxing so subtly that not even Mickey knew you were coaxing him.

Mickey ran his tongue along the vein that ran up the underside of Ian's dick and Ian couldn't help the way his hips bucked involuntarily and when Mickey chuckled ever so softly, his breath whispering across the sensitive head, Ian had to bite down on his forearm to muffle his own moan.

And when Mickey ever so gently sucked on the head, Ian knew his eyes crossed and his expression was probably fucking stupid, but he couldn't help it. Mickey's tongue swiped across the head, circling it as Mickey's fingers ever so slightly gripped the base.

It was another few minutes of torturous licking before Mickey finally took him into his mouth properly and the wet heat that engulfed Ian's cock was making him see stars behind his eyelids as he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

Mickey's hands slid under his ass, lifting him up, pushing him further into his mouth and Ian didn't even notice the pain as his knees bent so that he could place his feet flat against the mattress, his legs bracketing Mickey's shoulders.

Fingernails dug into the cheeks of his ass as Ian's control shattered and he started fucking Mickey's mouth, bucking his hips up, his movements jerky and erratic. But amazingly, the ex-con didn't complain in the slightest and Ian thought normally he would have done. He just relaxed his throat and took in as much as Ian as he could, wrapping his hand around the base of Ian's cock to make sure he didn't choke him.

The world seemed to fracture when he came and he expected Mickey to pull off, or at least to spit like he normally did, but he could feel Mickey's throat contracting around his dick as the older boy swallowed. And that just made it all the more intense, made Ian feel like he was freefalling.

Afterwards, Mickey crawled up Ian's body and Ian thought he would roll off, lie back down on his own bed and fall asleep without saying anything. But he didn't, he pressed his face into the crook of Ian's neck and Ian thought he was going to bite, that he was going to make and claim and he wanted him to, love it when he did.

But instead Mickey did something he had never done before. His lips pressed against Ian's flesh, right over his pulse in what could only be called a kiss. He still didn't say anything, but he also didn't move and as he wrapped his arms around Mickey's back, Ian supposed that even the toughest people needed comfort sometimes.

It made him feel stupidly happy that Mickey was seeking it from him.

Of course, in the morning, he knew neither of them were going to mention this. But that was alright.


	28. Chapter 28

Mickey couldn't look at Ian the next morning.

He wished that Ian hadn't been the first one awake, wished that he could have just slipped off the younger boy without waking him. It would have made it easier to pretend. But more than anything, he wished that Gallagher wouldn't be so fucking understanding. He didn't say anything, didn't make any comments, just stretched when Mickey clambered off the bed, scratching his stomach.

Mickey didn't understand it.

What he did like though was the reminders of the good parts about that night.

Like how Mickey could still taste Ian's jizz on his tongue and when he swallowed and how Ian's boxers sat crooked on his hips still.

Mickey wanted to thank him, to kiss him and to let him know that he was grateful Ian hadn't made a comment about his weakness. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything more than steal glances of the redhead out of the corner of his eye.

Ian made no move to get up or do anything, because he didn't have to. He just lay there stretched out the bed, his eyes foggy with sleep and his hair tousled, making Mickey notice how it was lightly longer than Mickey liked it to be. It was more like when they'd first started fucking, when his hair had made him look all innocent even though he was the furthest thing from. Mickey wanted to tell him to get his hair cut, but that would be showing that he actually noticed shit like that, that he actually cared and Mickey didn't want that to happen.

And besides, it wasn't Mickey's fucking right anyway. Ian's hair was Ian's business, not Mickey's.

He almost jumped into his boiler suit and sort of bobbed his head in Ian's direction in a lame attempt at a nod before bolting out the door to work.

He didn't know what it was about his mother than set him on edge, he didn't know what it was about her appearing that freaking him out so much. She got under his skin, like some annoying itch and it wasn't even in the good way that Gallagher had managed to worm his way under. Her just being near him felt like Mickey was burning and he just couldn't stop it. He didn't know how to stop it.

Sometimes he thought maybe the reason it fucked with his brain so much when she reappeared was because he'd always managed to trick himself into believing that he never had a mother during the times that she wasn't there. It always worked to. He wouldn't ever think about her unless someone asked him something or brought her up, he wouldn't miss her, wouldn't want to see her. It was like she just simply didn't exist.

He hated being reminded that actually that was a lie and she did.

Mickey blamed his mother for his moment of weakness.

He wasn't the type of person to go crawling to someone for some sort of comfort. He never needed comfort, he didn't like it, certainly not from another human being. If he wanted to vent his feeling, he'd go punch something or break something. If he wanted to forget, he got high or drunk. Mickey's comfort had always been in the bottom of a bottle, never in the arms of some stupid redhead.

So how the hell had he gotten here?

How in hell had he wound up mopping floors in a hospital so that he wouldn't ever have to really tear himself away from Ian? When had he started depending on someone else? When had someone become as vital to him as air?

He couldn't remember ever making the decision to feel anything let alone this.

A part of him wished he could switch it off. Wished that he could lock it up in a box and come back to it when he actually knew how to deal with any of this. But he knew he never would be able to. And he certainly wouldn't be able to if he ran. He wanted to understand, he wanted more than anything to be able to understand, but he didn't. He couldn't.

Sometimes it felt like he was far away, watching everything that was going on, but unlike everybody else, his view was out of focus, he didn't see things the same, so he couldn't understand like other people did. People like Ian thought everything was black and white, yes and no, simple, but it wasn't. None of this was simple, none of it was easy, there didn't seem to be too paths to choose from but ten thousand. And that was just too complicated for Mickey. That wasn't something he could handle, he didn't know how to deal with that.

And he'd always thought that was fine.

He'd always thought his way of looking at things was just fine, because he was Mickey Milkovich, he was everything he could ever be, which was nothing at all. He was fucked for life and he didn't mind, that was his destiny. Hell, he was lucky to even have that with parents like he had as far as he was concerned.

Mickey had been fine with his odds.

He'd been fine being emotionally distant from everything, perhaps even being emotionally stunted. As far as he was concerned he had a heart that could barely bleed and that was fine because it meant less pain for him, right?

Mickey didn't know when he'd worked out he was wrong. He didn't know if it was the first time he fucked Gallagher, he second or third, when he got shot, when he punched the cop or when he found out that Ian had been hurt. He didn't know, he didn't want to know. All he did was pray that nobody else noticed that he'd been falling apart all of his life and the only thing keeping all those fucked up meaningless pieces of him together was a certain redheaded Gallagher.

Mickey hated thinking that, hated knowing that.

He'd always thought that going into this, Ian's was the heart that was going to get hurt. He'd always thought that Mickey was going to be the one who'd walk away if only one of them could, because he wasn't capable of shattering, whereas someone like Gallagher was.

It hadn't ever occurred to him that it had always been the other way around.

He almost wished he'd never met Ian,  _almost_.

He knew one of these days that Ian was going to get fed up, that he was going to start to hate Mickey for not being able to give him everything. And Mickey just hoped that when that happened he'd have the nerve to ask him to stay.

Mickey didn't like things complicated. He didn't like things he didn't understand. He didn't like things he cared about. He didn't like things that cared about him. He didn't like things that made him thing or made him feel. He didn't like things he hated and he didn't like things he liked.

Which was why he didn't know why the hell any of this had managed to happen.

He'd made rules before he could even realise that was what he was doing. He'd made rules for a reason and Ian had just waltzed straight through and broke all of them without a single fucking care in the world. And Mickey should have punched him for that, he probably had, but he'd also probably fucked him right afterwards.

"Hey Mickey."

Mickey almost shot through the fucking ceiling at the perky way someone said his voice right next to him. If it hadn't been a girl's voice, he would have turned around and punched them straight in the face for making him jump. He would have called it reflex.

"Um. . .hi."

He didn't know what else to say, because he didn't know why the hell she was talking to him.

"How are you?" she asked, smiling at him.

 _Pissed off that you're talking to me, confused why you're talking to me, hungry, kind of need to pee, a little bit tired and as bored as fuck._  "I'm fine," he said.

"Good," she said grinned, "Me too, I mean I'm a bit tired, but I only have a few hours of my shift left, so I can go to sleep soon."  _Does she really think I care? What is it about me that she thinks says, come talk to me, I'm fine with that?_  "Do you go straight upstairs when you finish work?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Most of the time, yeah."

"That's convenient," she said, laughing.  _Why the fuck is she laughing?_  "What do you guys do up there?"

 _He talks, we smoke, we drink, we watch TV, we sleep, we argue, his family piss me off, we throw stuff at each other, we get high, we make each other cum_. "Fuck all," he told her.

"I think it's really terrible what happened to him," she said, "He's really lucky to have someone like you to keep him company here, it's really nice of you."

_And I'm so fucking pleased you think so, thank you, will you go away now?_

"Someone has to," he said, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth.

 _Please go away now_.  _Please. Please. Please._

"Well it's still sweet."

_Um. . . ._

"You do know I'm working right?" he asked, "I can't actually be standing here talking to you all fucking day, especially since I really kinda need this job and shit."

She blinked, "Oh right yeah sorry." But she stepped closer instead of away like he wanted her to. "I'll go in just a sec," she said and he thought for a minute that her voice was supposed to be sexy or something. Except it really wasn't.

And then she kissed him.


	29. Chapter 29

Mickey walked quickly into the room and threw himself down into his usual chair, lighting up a cigarette and blowing smoke up into the air.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Ian asked, because Mickey was just one huge bundle of nerves.

"I'm definitely gay," Mickey said a little randomly, but with Mickey there was almost always a reason as to why exactly he said something – unless he was drunk or high and then all logic went out the window with Mickey – so Ian just waited. He sucked on his cigarette frantically and Ian knew they were going to have to open a window when he was done otherwise it was going to be pretty damn obvious to anyone who walked in here what had been happening. "She fucking kissed me," he said eventually, shuddering, "She tasted like strawberries or some shit, it was disgusting."

Ian laughed even though at the same time he couldn't help the jealousy curling up in his stomach. "What did you do?" he asked, "When she kissed you, I mean, what did you do?"

Mickey scowled at him. "What the fuck do you mean, _what did I do_?" he asked, his voice incredulous, slightly panicked and Ian almost found it funny that this reaction was all because of one kiss, "Fucking ran off, didn't I?"

Ian stared at him, "You ran off?"

He stared right back, "Do I fucking stutter or something, yeah I ran off?"

"Mickey, you can't just run off when someone kisses you," he said, his turned to be incredulous, "She must be feeling like shit right now!"

The ex-con scoffed, not seeming to care in the slightest. "Hold on, let me get this straight, you're pissed not because she kissed me, but because I wasn't all happy about it and ran off?" He raised his eyebrows and Ian could tell that Mickey thought he was being stupid.

He shrugged, "You just could have handled it better, that's all."

Mickey snorted, "I don't fucking understand you sometimes."

"Oh don't be so dramatic!"

"Don't be so dramatic!" he practically snarled, standing up and getting in Ian's face, "I can't get the fucking taste off my mouth!" To emphasise his point, he scrubbed his hand across his lips, still scowling.

Like this was Ian's fault.

Ian rolled his eyes and acting purely on impulse grabbed hold of the back of Mickey's neck and kissed him hard. He pushed his tongue into Mickey's mouth without hesitation, being in no way gentle as it became frantic, all tongues and teeth. Ian liked it when they kissed like this, when there was a level of desperation to it, when the pain slithered in, completely interwoven with the pleasure.

Far too soon Mickey pushed him away, falling back into his seat and Ian raised his eyebrows, "Better?"

Mickey snorted, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth, "Well at least you taste fucking normal." He had blood on his lips and Ian had some in his mouth, he didn't know who it belonged to. He didn't particularly care either.

"First person you ever kissed," Ian said suddenly, "Guy or girl?"

Mickey frowned at him, "Why the fuck does that matter?"

Ian ignored him, like he hadn't even spoken. "My first kiss was a girl," he said, "I was eleven, sort of realised then that I wasn't like all the other boys in my year cause practically every single one of them had kissed this girl, and they all seemed to love doing it and I just thought it was fucking disgusting."

He pulled a face, he could remember it.

Mickey didn't comment, just stared up at the ceiling.

Five minutes later, he still hadn't said anything and Ian had given up thinking that he was going to. "You," Mickey ground out from between clenched teeth and Ian was convinced that he had to have misheard him.

"What?"

Mickey scowled, which seemed to be his expression of the day. "You were my fucking first kiss," he said, his mouth twisting like the words tasted foul in his mouth, "And if you make me say it again I'll rip your tongue out of your head."

They both knew he really wouldn't.

"Why?" Ian asked, even though it was probably a stupid question and he had a feeling Mickey was close to hitting something, most likely him, "I mean, why did you never kiss anyone before me, you must have had the chance?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Of course I had the chance, even I know I'm not that fucking ugly," he retorted and Ian wanted to say that no, he definitely wasn't, especially not when he'd showered and wasn't wearing a shirt, "And I just didn't want to, it always seemed fucking pointless."

"Do you think it's pointless now?" Ian asked.

"I'm not answering that," Mickey said, his tongue flicking out to finally clean the blood off of his lips.

Ian smiled, because that was enough of an answer in itself.

He sort of liked the idea of him being the first person that Mickey had ever kissed and he also sort of hated Lacey for not making him the  _only_  person that Mickey had ever kissed, period. But hey, she was a girl, so he supposed it didn't really count. At least that's what he told himself.

"So who the fuck was the first girl you kissed then?" Mickey asked, crossing his arms over his chest and glared at him as if to say that Ian had to answer because it was his turn to have the piss taken out of him.

And Mickey would take the piss out of him.

Which was why he cringed as he said, "Do you remember Sarah Richards?"

Mickey frowned. "Sarah with the teeth?" he asked, motioning to his own front teeth, "As in Bottle-Opener Sarah?" Ian cringed at the memory of the girl in questions buck teeth. You literally could have opened a bottle with them, hence the nickname.

It was that wince that confirmed it. It was that wince which sent Mickey over the edge and laughing until tears ran down his face. Ian had a feeling that it wasn't because of Sarah Richards that he was really laughing either. He thought it had more to do with the fact that Mickey just needed something to laugh about, he had to get it out. Because Mickey never laughed anymore, he only smirked. And even their number was decreasing.

"Fuck Gallagher, did you not see that face?" Mickey asked eventually, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands, "Why the fuck would anyone kiss that, I mean seriously?"

They both heard the sob from the doorway and just caught the swish of Lacey's ponytail as she ran out. Ian knew why, he knew how that must have sounded. He knew she would think Mickey was talking about her. Even Mickey must have worked that one out, but because he was a dick, he just laughed some more.

Which of course left Ian to explain things.

He only caught up with her two days later.

He thought maybe she'd had a day off. Or maybe she'd called in sick. He didn't know.

She came to put the cream on his legs and to walk him around a bit to loosen up his knees like his physical therapist had instructed. She didn't look at him as she started to rub the cream into his knees.

"Lacey," he said softly, bending forwards to touch the back of her hand. She looked up at him and looked like she was about to cry. He hated that. "Mickey's a dick," he said bluntly, "He always has been and always would be, but you have to trust me when I say that he wasn't talking about you when he was laughing the other day."

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "You don't have to lie for him," she said in a heartbroken sort of voice that Ian hated, "I don't he was." And she sounded so sure, so convinced that she was right.

"He wasn't, I swear," he said, squeezing her hand gently, "We were talking about first kisses and he was taking the piss because the first girl I kissed had buck teeth." He smiled at her weakly, praying she believed him.

He couldn't tell from her facial expressions alone, he didn't know her well enough.

"But even if he wasn't laughing about that," she said, "He still told you, didn't he, that I kissed him?"

Ian couldn't deny that. "Yeah he did," he admitted, wincing.

"Did he tell you that he ran away from me?" she asked, "He didn't even explain, he just ran off."

"Yeah and if it helps at all, I already told him off for doing that," he said, "But it's what Mickey does, when he panics he runs, he doesn't think about how it might seem or even if it would be smarter to stick around and explain, he just runs."

Just like that time Kash had walked in on them. Mickey had bolted so fast and left Ian to face the firing squad alone. Of course he'd come back when he'd calmed down, but that had just resulted in him getting shot so it probably hadn't been the best of ideas.

"I know I shouldn't have tried to kiss him," she said, moving to stand beside him as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing only a little as he tugged down the legs of his trousers, "But I just, I don't know, I wanted to and even though he didn't seem interested I thought that maybe that just meant he was shy or something."

Ian pulled a face before he could stop himself, it was more of a grimace than anything else. Slowly he got to his feet. "Yeah, Mickey isn't exactly the shy type," he told her truthfully, "But he can be as confusing as hell, that's true."

"Oh," she muttered, walking slowly beside him as he moved at what Mickey called his ' _special_  pace' from the room.

They'd made it almost all the way back to the room when she finally managed to find the courage to speak again. "You're his best friend," she said, pulling him to a stop and staring up at him with wide eyes, "You have to know, does he like me?"

He flinched, he didn't know how to phrase the answer to this so that she wouldn't cry and Mickey wouldn't kill him in his sleep, or worse, never speak to him again.

"He doesn't does he?" she said, her face falling. It wasn't really a question. She must have seen the answer in his face.

He shook his head slowly. "No I'm sorry," he said, "But it's not because there's anything wrong with you, it's just that he kind of likes someone else." This girl obviously had no fucking clue that Mickey was gay, which Ian actually thought was probably a good thing for Mickey. It meant he was hiding really well.

"Why couldn't he just tell me that then?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes, but thankfully not spilling over.

"Trust me when I say that trying to get Mickey to confess to his feelings is like trying to get blood from a stone," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting, "It just isn't going to happen and if it ever does, it's probably nothing more than a fluke." He smiled weakly, "Or he's drunk out of his skull."

She hiccupped, "But he told you."

Ian snorted, "Well no, he didn't, I kind of had to piece it together myself."

Although, Mickey had sort of, kind of, admittedly to it eventually.

She clapped her hand over her mouth suddenly, the sound making him jump because he really hadn't been expecting it. "Oh my God it's Lizzie!" she said, her eyes practically bugging out of her head in a really unattractive way, "Shit, how did I not realise, it's Lizzie, isn't it?"

"Um. . . " he didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, frowning.

He was saved from having to answer by a loud bang and they looked up in unison to see Mickey slamming Kash against the wall.


	30. Chapter 30

Mickey didn't even think.

He just saw Kash walking past Ian's room and reacted before he could stop himself or even evaluate the situation at all. You could say he lost it for a minute. He grabbed Kash by the front of his shirt and slammed the taller man against the wall.

"You know, it's like you  _want_  me to fucking hurt you," he sneered, pushing his face right up close to Kash's, loving the feel of the anger pounding through his veins, "Because you know I will if you ever think about touching him again."

He knew the jealousy was illogical, it was stupid, but he couldn't help it.

Kash smirked. "Oh, calm down, I visiting my mother," Kash retorted, obviously knowing better than to try and break out of Mickey's hold, "Why would I ever want anything again that's been in you?"

Mickey bared his teeth at Kash and slammed him into the wall again. "Maybe because you know he's the best fuck you're ever gonna have," he said, "And you're never, going to have him again." He shifted so that his forearm was pressed against Kash's throat, "I don't share what's mine."

And that was what Mickey had realised earlier that day. It didn't matter if he didn't want to want Ian. It didn't matter how he felt. It didn't matter what Ian felt. All that mattered was that he'd decided Ian was his.

Mickey had stabbed people with forks over Jell-O because that had been his. He'd had a goldfish once that Mandy had given him for his birthday one year and when his brother had flushed it still live down the toilet, Mickey had broken all the fingers in his left hand, because that goldfish had been his.

Ian Gallagher was his, and he'd kill anyone who touched him.

"Mickey, let him go."

He felt fingertips against his back, just touching his spine and he sneered again into Kash's rapidly reddening face before jerking his arm away and moving back to stand in front of Ian. He could still feel Firecrotch's fingertips pressed against his shoulder blade, like that was all it took to control Mickey.

Mickey could feel that touch right the way down to his toes.

"Fuck off, now," he said glaring at the other man, eager for the fight even though he didn't want to tear himself away from Ian's touch.

Wisely, Kash didn't argue.

Ian's hands on his shoulders span him around and he laughed even as Ian glared down at him. The redhead frowned after a moment. "Mickey, what have you taken?" he asked slowly, grabbing Mickey's chin and tilting his head up.

Mickey dug his hand into his pocket and waved a small sachet of white powder at Ian. "Found this in my IPod case that I took back off Mandy," he said, grinning like a fool, "Saved a bit for you, cause I'm good like that."

"Yeah Mick, you're great," Ian said, looking worried.

Because they both knew what Cocaine did to Mickey. It made him possessive and talkative and desperate for a fight. The last time, he'd had to setting for fighting with Ian before they fucked.

Mickey forgot about Ian's knees as he walked the redhead backwards into his room. He forgot about everything except the tingles of electricity running through his body from Ian's light touch against his chest. Coke also made him hypersensitive to contact, which was why having sex while high on the stuff was always fucking insane for Mickey.

Ian was laughing though when he hit the end of the bed, sitting down on the bar that stretched across it. Mickey leant in closer and ran his tongue up the side of Ian's neck, biting under his jaw. Both of them shivered at that touch.

"Mick, Mickey stop," Ian said, quickly, pushing against Mickey's chest even though he really didn't sound like he wanted Mickey to stop at all.

"Why?" he asked, letting his voice drop lower and leaning back in to bite Ian's earlobe as he spoke.

Ian shivered under his hands. "Because we're in a hospital," he reminded him, "Because it's the middle of the day and because you'll only get pissy with me when the high wears off." And yeah, Mickey could understand what he was saying, he knew that it was probably true, but he couldn't bear the idea of tearing himself away.

He thought it might kill him.

"But you know I'd come back," he muttered, biting Ian again on the neck, hard enough that he tasted blood on his tongue, "Or would you rather be with fucking Kash." He practically snarled against Ian's neck, digging his fingers into the redhead's thighs.

He knew none of what he was feeling was logical, knew it had been stupid to snort the coke in the middle of the day, knew it would probably only go badly, but he didn't care. He'd needed the high to forget his mother and he needed Ian's touch now to forget about everything else.

Something in the back of his mind – maybe it was Sober Mickey – told him that he was being a possessive twat, but it also told him that it was fucking stupid that Ian knew how to handle him when he was like this. And it was true, Ian did. He was practically the only one who could control Mickey when he was high on coke.

"I thought I was the one who asked stupid questions?" he said, pulling Mickey's hair hard to pull him back far enough that he could mash their lips together. And it felt like every single nerve ending in Mickey's body was on fire. But it was in a good way.

He moaned as Ian's tongue flicked into his mouth, battling with his and he sucked on Ian's bottom lip slightly when he thought the other boy was starting to pull back. When they were sober, it was tongues and teeth, but with even just Mickey not being in his right mind it because downright violent. He grabbed Ian's thighs and pulled his hips forwards roughly, loving the feeling of Ian wrapping his legs around Mickey's waist even though that part in the back of his mind told him that must have hurt the redhead.

Mickey's hands under his ass stopped Ian from falling backwards off the end of the bed and Mickey dug his fingers into the thin cotton of the pyjama bottoms, feeling the harsh flesh underneath.

And in response, Ian was clawing at his back, pushing his hands up under Mickey's shirt, knowing the feel of his hands against bare flesh would drive Mickey insane. And it was. It definitely was.

Ian pulled back too soon, breathing hard, his forehead dropping against Mickey's shoulder.

"That's all you get," he said in that raspy fucking voice that had Mickey's eyes crossing in his skull. But the redhead sounded firm, he meant it. At least one of them had some fucking control.

He grabbed Ian's chin and kissed him hard, quick, pulling back before he could let himself get too attached. Of course he was already was too fucking attached to that mouth. Even worse, he was attached to its owner as well.

He had to rip himself out of Ian's hold, because otherwise he never would have left and he smirked as Ian wobbled on his perch before his feet found the floor again. Mickey flopped down onto Ian's hospital bed and sighed.

"You want some Jell-O?" Ian asked and Mickey sneered because it was fucking stupid that Gallagher knew his habits like that.

"Of course I want some fucking Jell-O," he retorted, already missing Ian's touch. He punched the pillow a few times, but it didn't help.

Ian smirked, walking slowly towards the door, "I'll see what I can do."

Even in the state he was in though, Mickey did notice that Ian had momentarily forgotten to be in pain when he walked. He was almost walking normally. That made him smile even as he jammed a pillow over his face so that nobody could see.


	31. Chapter 31

It sounded fucking stupid, but Mickey couldn't really remember much of what had happened when he'd taken that Coke. He remembered kissing Ian, remembered something about Kash and something about Jell-O, but the context was all fucked up. He supposed he must have fallen asleep with some of it still in his system, because he woke up in Ian's bed inside of his own, on his front with one of his arms pinning Gallagher to the bed by his waist.

Mickey flexed his fingers on the hip under his hand, digging in his nails slightly. He didn't know if Ian had been awake before, but the redhead was definitely now. His fingers trailed along Mickey's forearm, making him shiver before he could stop himself. It was stupid how just ridiculous little touches could make him feel like he was losing control.

He didn't like losing control, he liked having it.

But he seemed to be having less and less lately.

"Do I even want to know what the fuck I did?" he asked, keeping his face in the pillow because it was too early as far as he was concerned to see Ian's shit eating grin. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth and his voice came out as a really unattractive croak.

Oh well, Gallagher had seen him pissed out of his skull with puke at the corners of his mouth and blood staining his knuckles, he could deal with Morning Mickey.

Ian laughed and pushed some of Mickey's hair off his forehead, which made him tighten his fingers on that hipbone and jerk his head away a little. None of that seemed to phase the redhead, he just went back to stroking Mickey's forearm.

"Well you kind of outed yourself to Lacey," Ian said after a minute, obviously having to decide whether or not he actually wanted to tell Mickey that piece of information. "But I caught up with her when I was tracking you down some Jell-O," he added, "And she promised she wouldn't tell and that she had had honestly no clue whatsoever."

"She better not fucking tell, otherwise I'll get Mandy to make her dead meat," Mickey snarled, wincing a little when Ian pinched his arm, "What the fuck was that for?"

Even without looking, he knew Ian was rolling his eyes.

"Don't forget you already broke her heart, so fucking play nice," he warned, "She isn't going to tell anybody and I really doubt she knows anybody we know."

Of course that wasn't the fucking point and they both knew it.

"I'll still get Mandy to kill her if she talks," he muttered, which earned him another pinch, "Will you stop fucking doing that?" He tightened his fingers on that hipbone in retribution. "How the fuck did I out myself anyway?"

He was capable of all sorts of shit when he was high on Coke. It made him as possessive as fuck and it also made him as horny as fuck. Not really the best of combinations when the person you were possessive over was another guy and you were both in a hospital.

Mickey sort of wanted to blame Ian, but he knew that the redhead really couldn't be blamed for shit Mickey did when he was high. It wasn't like it was possible to really control him all that well. So even if Mickey really wanted someone to blame other than himself, he settled for just blaming the fact he was high.

"Well first you sort of threatened to kill Kash if he ever came near what's yours and then you tried to jump my bones," Ian said, turning his head to bite Ian's shoulder gently for no reason whatsoever. Maybe it was because that had sort of become their form of kissing.

"Did it work?" he asked, lifting his head from the pillow a little bit.

He was going to be as pissed as hell if he'd somehow forgotten about sex with Ian when he was high. It was always the best sort of sex, which prompted the question why didn't he get high on it more often? Answer: because he hated all the stupid ass stuff he did before and after the sex. That and he got downright chatty when he'd had coke and he didn't ever want to risk saying something to Ian he didn't want the redhead to know.

Ian snorted and rested his chin on Mickey's shoulder so that when Mickey turned his head, their noses were almost touching. "No," he said and Mickey could taste his breath on his tongue. He probably didn't want to know what Gallagher was tasting on his. "We did make out a bit though, you get fucking needy when you're on that shit."

"Fuck off," Mickey muttered, "It's horny, not needy."

"I also found out you had a fish when you were little, but your brother flushed it down the toilet so you broke his hand, but actually you're allergic to tuna," Ian said, smirking slightly in a way that made Mickey want to punch him, "And you said it just like that, all in one breath."

Mickey scowled, "Now you know what you're fucking like normally."

The redhead rolled his eyes, "Well maybe I like chatty Mickey."

"Maybe I like you with a black eye," Mickey retorted, but they both knew he didn't. Or maybe he did. Or maybe it didn't matter. He didn't fucking have a clue about anything anymore.

"Aww, I knew you liked me," Ian said, grinning before Mickey could realised exactly what he had just said, "And you really do like announcing I'm yours, don't you?"

Mickey glared at him and then took his arm off Ian's waist, rolling over so that he was on his side with his back to that shit eating grin. He figured it was the best way to avoid having the answer that question, which was fine, because they both knew the answer was no, Mickey did not like telling people, he just seemed to be making it pretty fucking clear anyway.

It pissed him off that now not only was Gallagher breaking the rules Mickey had set, but also Mickey was starting to break his own rules. Not that he could really be blamed this time since he hadn't been in his right mind, but still, it was fucking annoying.

He felt Ian roll onto his side and an arm went around Mickey that he futilely tried to shrug off.

Gallagher's hand splayed flat against his chest as he nestled into Mickey's back and Mickey hated that he could feel himself relaxing into that hold. What he didn't hate was the feel of Gallagher's erection poking him in the ass.

Ian bit behind his ear in a way that was certainly less that gentle and then his tongue swiped over the same spot, like he was smoothing away the minor hurt. "Just look at the positives," he muttered in Mickey's ear, "It just proves you really are good at hiding that you're gay."

Mickey pulled a face that he couldn't see.

"You do know I'm probably never going to come out, right?" he asked, because he had to, "People know, but my Dad would still kill me himself if he ever found out." This was his way of giving Ian an out, of giving him a chance to tell Mickey to fuck off now, because Mickey wasn't ever going to be capable of giving Ian everything he wanted.

They should both know that now.

"What makes you think I want to come out either?" Ian asked, "You think I want to get my head kicked in again every time I try to step foot outside the house? I don't want you to come out, Mickey, I just don't want to have to lie to the people who I'm closest to."

His arms tightened around Mickey as he spoke, like he thought Mickey was going to bolt. Didn't he understand that if Mickey had wanted to, he already would have by now?

"I just want to be able to have you around without people wondering why the fuck you're there," he said and Mickey didn't know whether it was his words or the tongue that licked that spot behind his ear again that made him shiver, "I just don't want you to run."

Mickey screwed his eyes shut and pushed back into Ian's hold. "I'm not good at this emotional shit," he muttered, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Ian snorted, "You think I don't know that? Mickey everybody knows that."

And yeah, maybe they did, but that didn't mean that Mickey didn't feel like it was necessary to remind Gallagher once in a while. Sometimes it looked like the redhead forgot. Like he forgot that Mickey was full of all these sharp edges that were never going to smooth out because that would mean having to have a complete personality transplant and it would mean him having to forget everything he had ever been. It just wasn't possible. It was never going to be possible.

"How about you just try to be nice to me?" Ian suggested, "When we're like this, you could just try not to act like you don't give a shit." His breath on Mickey's neck was making the ex-con squirm and it was turning him on and they both fucking knew it. "I'm not saying start spouting emotional bullshit," Ian said, like he thought Mickey maybe hadn't understood or heard him before, "Just don't lie."

And the problem was, Mickey could see the logic in that.

He could probably do that.

It wasn't like he'd ever be able to be completely nice to anybody, not even Gallagher. He was never going to give him flowers, he was never going to write some stupid fucking love song or give him anything but backhanded or accidental compliments. But Mickey could tell the truth. He didn't have to pretend like he didn't care, not when Gallagher already knew damn well that he did.

There wasn't any point in lying when Ian already knew the truth.

And after all, Mickey didn't like doing anything he didn't  _have_  to do.

"I think I can do that," he muttered, his eyes sliding closed as Ian rocked his hips forwards.

"Good."

 _Fuck, that fucking rasp_. Ian knew exactly what it did to Mickey when his voice dropped like that, when it became raspy and rough and fucking hot.

"Now. . ." Ian's hand slid off Mickey's chest, downwards to palm his dick through his boxers. Mickey moaned softly at the contact that wasn't even really contact at all, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "I really need to go pee."

Mickey's eyes opened and he punched Ian hard on the thigh. "I fucking hate you, Firecrotch," he muttered, elbowing Ian off of him and swinging his legs off the bed. He glared at the redhead as he sprawled there looking like the king of the fucking jungle or something.

He tugged on a pair of slacks of his that were on the floor that he couldn't remember taking off, but supposed he must have done when he was still a little bit high. Or maybe Ian had done it. He hated not fucking remembering, he really did.

"Are you fucking coming then or what?" he asked, scowling at Ian and actually imagining some really colourful ways to kill the guy as he stood there waiting. He folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes.

Ian smirked as he sat up. "Don't get cranky just because you're not," he said.

Mickey's scowl turned into a frown, "What?" He didn't get it, but he could see that there was supposed to be some sort of joke there.

"Don't be cranky just because you're not  _coming_ ," Ian said, grinning because the fucker thought he was actually funny. Mickey didn't laugh, but Ian did at something he obviously saw in Mickey's expression.

Mickey thought it was ironic, because he definitely wouldn't be laughing if he knew was Mickey was imagining right then.

Mandy was sitting on the edge of the bed when they came back, swinging her legs and obviously trying to pull off the whole innocent look. It would have been a lot more efficient if she hadn't been wearing a non-existent skirt and way too much makeup. He grimaced when he saw her, "What the fuck do you want?"

"Love you too, Ass Face," she retorted, jumping forwards to hug him and he hugged her back instinctively, even though it did actually kick in then why she was there. When she pulled back she grabbed the brown paper bag off the table beside Ian's bed and handed it to him, because the Milkovich's were classy when it came to wrapping.

"Iggy had to get rid of yours cause he stabbed some guy with it," she said as he took a switchblade out from inside the bag, "So I made him get you another one, he says this one's better anyway." She shrugged, Mandy wasn't really into that shit and she also wasn't really into listening to Iggy when he spoke.

None of them were.

"Thanks," he muttered gruffly, tossing the bag across the room and flicking open the blade to look at it more closely. It actually was better than the one he'd had before, so that stopped him being pissed off over the fact Iggy hadn't used his own fucking knife when he'd stabbed someone.

Mandy stared at him for a minute, "You're such a fucking idiot, you forgot again, didn't you?"

He shrugged, "Do you see a fucking calendar in here?" He motioned around the room and raised his eyebrows at her, "Besides, you remember every year, so it's not like I have to, is it?"

He flicked the blade shut again and tucked it into his back pocket.

"You're an idiot," she told him, "But I also got you this." She handed him a pot of Jell-O with a candle stuck in the top through the lid. She lit it with her lighter and looked at him expectantly.

Mickey snorted, "That's really fucking gay."

"Yeah, just like you," she retorted, "Now blow the fucking candle out and smile before I throw it at you."

"Aren't you supposed to sing or some shit?" he asked, smirking at her.

She thumped him hard on the arm, which was her lovely way of saying 'no, fuck off and blow out the candle'.

Mickey blew it out, but made sure he didn't look very enthusiastic about it.

When he looked back up, Ian was staring at him with wide eyes like he was about to fucking cry or something.

"What?" he snapped at him, "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?" he asked, "You should have told me."

Mickey rolled his eyes, part of him not believing he even liked a guy who could get all bitchy about shit as pointless as birthdays. "Gallagher, I didn't even remember until like five fucking minutes ago," he said, scowling at him, "And I don't remember because that would mean I actually gave a shit about my birthday." Which he didn't, like at all.

"But why, it's your birthday?" Ian said, still looking like he was about to cry, which was so stupid there weren't even words in Mickey's vocabulary to explain how stupid it was.

He shrugged, "Yeah, and?"

Mandy reached out and patted Ian's arm in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, glaring at Mickey. "Don't take it personally, he's never given a shit," she told the redhead, planting a kiss on Ian's cheek that made Mickey scowl.

"This is your expect nothing never be disappointed bullshit, isn't it?" Ian asked suddenly, scowling right on back at Mickey, because he thought that he was just as badass or something like that. He wasn't.

His scowl just made him look cute. Which made Mickey want to claw out his own eyeballs.

He shrugged. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?" he retorted, "I just don't give a crap about my birthdays."

"Yeah, but now I feel guilty cause I didn't get you anything."

"If you even think about getting me a card, I will make you eat it," Mickey warned him, "And you can just suck me off later or something, that'll count as getting me something." He grinned when Mandy looked like she was about to be sick.

She glared at him, "They're the sort of ideas that you're supposed to keep to yourself."

He flipped her off and she hit him again.

Several hours later after Mandy had gone, Ian had done his exercises and walked up and down the corridor and Mickey was sitting in his usual chair playing with the switchblade, Ian handed him a small folded slip of paper.

"What the fuck's this?"

Ian rolled his eyes, "Open it and you'll find out."

Mickey put the switchblade down and unfolded the little piece of paper.  _Happy birthday dick head, love Ian._

"It's not a card, it's a piece of paper," Ian told him quickly, "So don't flip out or anything."

Mickey narrowed his eyes at him. "This is really fucking gay, Gallagher," he muttered, but he hoped that Ian didn't notice him slipping that little bit of paper into his pocket. As he picked his switchblade back up, he hoped Ian just thought he'd thrown it away.

He knew he never would. How fucking stupid was that?


	32. Chapter 32

When Ian got discharged, Mickey honestly didn't see it coming at all. It seemed weirdly sudden and he could see the panic in Ian's eyes when they told him he was ready to go home. Ian hadn't been expecting it either and he'd built himself up his own little world inside the hospital, where it was safe. Where  _he_  was safe.

Mickey could see that the redhead didn't like the idea of having to see the outside world.

He thought that Lizzie was probably to thank for the reason why Ian got discharged on Mickey's day off. He didn't thank her for that any way but mentally, because Mickey's thanks always came out twisted and as insults, so he figured it was probably best just not to bother at all.

It took forever to get all the paperwork pushed through, to make sure everything was ready, but Mickey spent the entire time in the bathroom with Ian. The rest of the Gallaghers milled about doing. . . _something_. . . but Mickey was just locked in that room with Ian, trying to ignore the press of the rest of the world for a few stolen minutes.

It felt strange having to hide again, having to literally steal their moments together, having to plan it out and cower away from all of the prying eyes. But unlike all of those other times, this time they didn't do anything. Mickey just sat with his back against the wall, the cold tiles pressing into his shoulder blades, Ian curled up in between his legs, his head on his chest. His fingers gripped the front of Mickey's grimy tank top, his nails digging into flesh in a way that was accidental, but instinctive.

To Mickey, it felt like Ian was trying to cling on to something, trying to stop the world from spinning underneath him. And maybe that was exactly what was happening. He wanted to jerk away, he wanted to run from the feelings that in that moment were so completely put on display. He wanted to run from Ian, but he couldn't.

He blamed it on the boy's grip on his shirt, but it was so much more like Ian had his soul in a headlock. Mickey couldn't pull free and he didn't want to. Mickey still didn't understand it, he still didn't understand why Ian insisted to want, insisted to cling to that spark of black inside of Mickey that the redhead convinced himself was really light.

Maybe it was in some way, some twisted stupid way that only Ian could recognise. Maybe there was good in Mickey's chest. He didn't know, he didn't care.

He knew how crazy they could get, he knew how crazy it would be to even think that him and Ian would work, that they could work. But Mickey knew that they were both their own special brand of crazy and together they were fucking insane. The world they lived in, the neighbourhood they had been born and raised in was run on insanity though. There was nothing good about it, nothing logical, it just was.

A lot like him and Ian.

Ian had him craving the insanity, he had him craving to be pushed over the edge into nothing he knew, into everything that was unfamiliar. And he didn't know why. Mickey didn't like the unknown, he liked and believed in what he could see and what he could touch, that was what was real to him. And that was why it made so little sense for the realest thing he had ever felt to be feelings for some stupid redhead with a shit eating grin.

That wasn't logical in Mickey's illogical world.

None of this was.

But it was happening anyway and Mickey had given up trying to force it to do the contrary. He was past trying to deny to Ian how he felt, he was past trying to deny it to himself. He liked cock, specifically Ian's cock and that would never change. It couldn't be beat out of him, it couldn't be threatened out of him, it was a part of him more firmly than anything else. Of course, Mickey's dad wouldn't understand that, neither would his brothers and that was exactly why he intended never to let them find out.

Ian was  _his_ , his secret, his Gallagher, as essential as the air that he breathed. And he was past thinking how gay and how stupid all that sounded, because Mickey was gay, had always been gay and he wasn't stupid, but he definitely wasn't smart. So if you followed the illogical logic of it all, Mickey was only doing what was in his nature.

But maybe he could touch this reality, because it was evidence when he touched Ian and could feel sparks shivering through his fingertips. It was evidence when he looked at Ian across a room and got hard with just the slightest smile from the redhead. It was evidence that the way he looked up at Mickey then, his eyes wide and sad and so incredibly heartbroken that Mickey wanted to tear the entire world apart just so Ian wouldn't be scared to go out into it.

What they had was too strong, it was too powerful, too crazy and irrational and impulsive that maybe it was destined to doom. But the ride would definitely be worth the crash in the end. If Mickey could accept that, Ian definitely could.

"Don't leave me," Ian's words stuttered out of him, as broken as the look in his eyes and even more desperate.

His fingers bit even more into Mickey's flesh and Mickey tightened his arms around Ian in response. He seemed fragile, like some sort of porcelain doll or something. "You already know I wouldn't," he muttered back, but he could see in Ian's expression that he didn't.

Mickey wasn't good with words, he didn't know how to say the words in a way that Ian would believe him, but he knew how to do the physical. He pulled Ian up, using the fact that the redhead was limp against him to lift him and position him as he wanted. He made Ian straddle his thighs, knowing the bend in his knees had to be slightly painful for a second, but his redhead was stronger than the pain.

He pressed his fingertips into the base of Ian's spine as the young boy leant forwards and pressed his forearms against the tile either side of Mickey's head. His hands dropped down until his fingers pushed into Mickey's hair, the feel of it making the ex-con's eyes slide closed.

When Ian's mouth touched his, it wasn't like any kiss they'd had before. It wasn't desperate need for release, it was desperate need for everything else, to stay right there. Mickey's hands on his hips pulled him on closer, pressed their upper bodies together as Ian's tongue slowly flicked into his mouth. His fingers slid down the side of Mickey's face before pushing back up into his hair, teasing the strands at the same time as his mouth moved ever so gently.

Normally that would have been a moment filled with desperate grinding, with Mickey flipped Ian until his back slammed against the floor, until he was in control completely. But for once he didn't want that.

He just wanted to be able to feel Ian's flesh under his hands, his heart beating against his through their chests, the steady pounding making everything real.

Ian kissed down his jaw, skimmed his lips over Mickey's cheekbone before licking a line across his bottom lip. In return Mickey's fingertips traced patterns on Ian's flesh, feeling the knobs of his spine, the heat under his touch as he pushed up the back of Ian's shirt slightly.

Mickey wanted to hide him away from the rest of the world forever, he wanted to protect him, guard him, never let anything touch him. But Mickey was smart in some respects, when it came to Ian. He knew that would destroy the redhead. He knew that Ian had to go out into the world, he had to make him be everything that he could be, even if that meant dragging him out into the sunshine in the middle of a crowded street and force him to relax.

He would do it. Even if Ian ended up hating him afterwards.

"You won't leave me," Ian muttered against his mouth, so that Mickey could taste his words. He thought he could taste the desperation there. He was desperate to believe his own words.

"No," Mickey whispered back, trailing his fingers absently down Ian's spine, smiling when his back arched.

Ian curled back up against him, his mouth pressed against the pulse in Mickey's neck. "Mickey?" he asked, in that voice that said he feared rejection. His breath skirted across Mickey's pulse as he spoke, making it jump.

"Mmh?"

"Tell me something no one else knows," Ian said and Mickey didn't know why he said that, didn't know why he wanted to know. He guessed it was probably just one of Gallagher's stupid theories. Like maybe if he knew something about Mickey that nobody else did, it would make him stick around.

Why the hell he couldn't get it through his thick skull that Mickey wasn't going anywhere, he didn't know. He didn't know how he could make him understand.

"I have a blind spot in my left eye," Mickey muttered, because that was literally the only thing he could think of that nobody else in the world other than him knew. No doctors know, Mandy didn't, only Mickey. And now Ian.

Ian's head lifted away from his neck and he frowned at him, "What do you mean?"

Mickey held up a finger to where the blind spot was, just on the edge of his vision. "I can't see the tip of my finger there, I can't see anything in that one spot," he said, feeling weird explaining it because he never had done before.

"How?" Ian asked, touching Mickey's face like he could take it away, "Or have you always had it?"

"My dad," he said vaguely, even though he knew that wouldn't be enough at first, "He was yelling at Mandy, he was hurting her, I guess I was about twelve or something, but I tackled him into the TV." He rubbed a finger across his bottom lip. "He tried his fucking damnedest to try and kill me, he only stopped because I stopped breathing," he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, when really it was, "Dad ran off and Mandy tasered my ass because she'd been watching too many fucking programs about hospitals and thought it'd jumpstart me or something."

He snorted, not looking into Ian's face because he just  _couldn't_. "I guess it kind of did work, actually," he said, trying to look amused, but it turned out as more of a grimace, "When Dad came back a few hours later, he found me comforting  _her_."

He'd never seen Mandy cry like she had then.

He never wanted her to cry like that again.

"But yeah, ever since she tasered me, I've had this fucking blind spot," he explained, seeing the tears in Ian's eyes even though he didn't mean to look at him.

"Better than being dead," Ian muttered.

Mickey gripped his hips hard, almost painfully. "Yeah, a hell of a lot of stuff is better than being dead," he said, staring at Ian meaningfully, "Remember that."

Ian nodded, because he understood Mickey was talking about him and his fears.

In the end, when they did leave the hospital, Ian didn't freak out as much as everybody thought he would. He tensed up at his first breath of fresh air in a long time, but Mickey handed him a cigarette and that seemed to distract him from his thoughts for a while.

Mickey sort of wanted to be gay, he wanted to be sappy and to hold Ian's hand as they walked, to squeeze his fingers tight, but he didn't.

Steve drove them back to the Gallagher's house, everyone squeezing into the car, even Mickey. And he suspected it felt better for Ian to be crammed in like that, he thought it probably made him feel safer. Even if his hand did grip Mickey's knee so hard that Mickey knew he was going to have a bruise when he looked that night.

Lingering in the doorway to the Gallagher's house, Mickey could taste the hostility towards him. Mainly from Fiona. She still didn't like him, didn't want him around her brother. And he could sort of understand that. Mickey looked past them without really seeing them. They didn't matter to him. His eyes met Ian's as he silently asked. . . something. He didn't quite know what.

"I'll be fine," Ian said after a moment.

 _Had that been what he'd been asking?_  He wasn't sure, but he nodded nevertheless, slowly backing out of the house. What he didn't see was Fiona's pleased smile, or Lip shaking his head at his sister, disappointment in his eyes. He wouldn't have guessed at any of those things and he wouldn't have cared had anybody told him. Because he could see Ian in his mind's eye, retreating up the stairs before the door even shut in Mickey's face.

He knew he was right when Ian's face appeared in the window. He pressed his hand against the cool class.

"Take your hand off the fucking glass, Gallagher!" he shouted up to him, pushing his hands deep into his pockets to stop him raising his hand back. This was such a Romeo and Juliet scene he thought he was going to be sick.

He caught Ian's grin as he turned away to walk back to his own house and it warmed up parts of his heart that he was only just beginning to learn existed.


	33. Chapter 33

They threw him a party the next night after he'd been discharged from the hospital. Mickey thought it was the stupidest fucking idea in the world, but it was Monica's doing and the bitch wasn't exactly bright. He only found out because Lip seemed to think exactly the same thing, that it was a recipe for disaster if there ever was one. He rang asking him to come and try and stop Ian from freaking out.

They both knew the chances of him freaking out were high.

Mickey showered for the occasion, put on a shirt that didn't smell too bad and jeans that weren't too ripped or covered in some unnameable substance. Mandy had already disappeared off to the party, dressed up and wearing too much fucking make-up, but Mickey didn't comment this time. Normally he'd call her a slag or make fun of her somehow, but he just didn't want to, not tonight.

He showered and stuffed a strip of condoms into his pocket of semi-clean jeans, some lube, a packet of cigarettes and a joint he'd managed to get from his brother. He also grabbed a bottle of the cheap vodka his Dad practically lived on. Nobody would even notice it was missing, his Dad would probably just assume he'd already drunk it or something.

By the time he walked out of the door he was armed with every weapon he could think of that could help calm Ian down. Or calm him down if need's be. He would consider him lucky if Fiona even let him into the house though.

He just hoped she didn't notice him all that quickly. He knew it was asking for a lot, but there was no way he wasn't seeing Ian tonight. He could feel his dick hardening just in anticipation. Mickey wasn't a complete bastard, he wouldn't do anything Ian wasn't okay with, wouldn't push it. He'd rather have chopped his own arm off than upset Ian like that, but from what he'd experienced whilst Ian was in the hospital, he knew there was a pretty strong fucking chance that Ian was going to be as gagging for it as he was right then.

Mickey had never considered himself a lucky sort of person. So maybe that meant it was Ian who was lucky. Either way, one of them had to be, because the moment Mickey walked into the house, he could see Ian going up the stairs and that was fine, that was more than fine, except there was someone following him up.

And Ian didn't realise.

Mickey honestly didn't think he'd ever moved faster in his entire life.

"Because of you, my best friends are in jail," Dan Walker sneered into Ian's face, pinning him against the wall and there was literally no colour in the redhead's skin anymore.

And it was like a cloud of red dropped down over Mickey's eyes. He flung himself at Dan without thinking, without needing to think. He landed on top of him, slamming his forehead against the other boy's face with enough force that Mickey saw stars and Dan's nose gave this horrible crunching sound as it broke.

"Actually," he corrected, "I'm the reason they're in jail, the reason they were in fucking hospital too."

And last night his Uncle had sent word to say that he'd set someone on the task of wiping the bastards off the face of the earth forever. Mickey would be the reason for that as well.

He slammed his fist into the guy's already broken face, smiling at the feel of the blood on his knuckles. "And you can fucking guarantee I'll hurt you as well if you so much as breathe near Ian again," he hauled the guy up, slamming him into the wall again for effect, loving the way his head just sort of lolled forwards, "Comprende?"

He didn't even wait to see the guy's not before he launched him down the stairs.

"You okay?" he asked, wanting to reach out and touch Ian, but too scared to in case the action was coupled with rejection. He didn't want to scare him, not any more than the rest of the fucking world already was.

Mickey was seriously considering going downstairs and gutting Monica for throwing this stupid fucking party.

Gallagher backed away into the room he shared with Lip and God knows how many other people, his eyes wide, but the emotions in them not something he could decipher. Mickey followed, his feet moving automatically and he expected Ian to scream at him as he shut the door behind him, he expected rebuke, rejection, anything but what happened.

"This is a new shirt," Ian said, a smirk tilting up the corners of his mouth, "Did you get a new shirt just for tonight?"

Mickey snorted, "Don't flatter yourself, Gallagher."

Even though they knew he both had.

The redhead took a step closer. "Mickey," Ian's voice was nothing more than a harsh whisper by his ear, his body pressing close and causing Mickey's already few brain cells to catch fire. It was like electricity was crackling between them, the heat something that should have made Mickey uncomfortable, but it didn't.

"Yeah?" Mickey didn't even recognised his own voice, it was so clogged up with desire, need and every single emotion he had ever felt for the stupid redhead with the shit eating grin.

Ian was pushing him against the wardrobe now and Mickey could feel his arousal against his even through two layers of denim. He snaked his hands around and dug his bloody fingers hard into the cheeks of Ian's ass. He sort of loved how the younger boy was taller than him, like how that lean frame felt pressed against his, how they seemed to fit even though they weren't anybody's idea of a match.

He shivered when Ian's tongue flicked out, licking at the corner of Mickey's mouth before his lips skimmed towards his ear. He bit down lightly on the lope before sucking it into his mouth and Mickey was pretty damn convinced that right then he was seeing stars. "I want you to fuck me," Ian asked and even through his arousal, even through both of their arousals, Mickey could hear the tremor of fear, the trepidation in Ian's voice.

"Why?" he asked, pulling Ian in tighter for fear the redhead would suddenly lurch away, "You know I'm more than happy to  _be_  fucked." In fact, he preferred being the bottom and he knew Ian preferred being the top. Maybe that was one of the reasons they fit so well together, they both defied the stereotypes. Then again, neither of them really screamed gay, it was about cock for both of them, not about being overly flamboyant or camp. It was just about cock.

"I need you to make me mine," he replied in that harsh, yet also heart-broken whisper, "I want you to make me yours again." And Mickey understood then, understood why it was important to Ian to this time be on the bottom. They'd fucked him, they'd raped him and to Ian, that was like they'd made him theirs somehow. They had tried to ruin that part of him, hurt him in the worst possible way and even whilst seeing red as the anger bubbled inside of his chest, Mickey knew that this time, he had to be gentle with Ian.

This was the only time he would probably ever have to be gentle with Ian.

"Actually Gallagher," he replied, loving how Ian shivered at the husky quality his voice had gained as he divested Ian of his shirt and ran his hands over the redhead's chest, "You never haven't been mine."

And that was probably one of the most honest things he'd ever said. He couldn't explain it, but Ian had always been his. Even when he'd stopped being friends with Lip and had no reason to ever care about what happened to any of the Gallaghers, Mickey had defended Ian. He hadn't even thought about it, he'd beaten up some guys and then panicked, hitting Ian as well just so no one could label him a fag. But he was a fag, he'd always been one, just like Ian Gallagher had always been and would always be Mickey's.

He scraped his teeth along Ian's collarbone, nipping lightly at his flesh as he traced the still rock hard abs with his fingers. He sucked on one nipple, biting down on it lightly, teasing with his teeth. Mickey wasn't good at foreplay, never really believed in it, but he was willing to let loose this one time, just this one time. For Ian.

He pushed Ian back towards the bed, roughly but not too hard that he could risk hurting him. Ian fell backwards onto the duvet, sprawling there and looking so God damn edible that Mickey lost his train of thought for a moment. When he could finally remember what he was actually doing, Mickey pulled his own shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor and knowing chances were he wouldn't pick up the right one when he came to get dressed again.

Ian already had his belt undone and Mickey emptied the important items out of his pockets before dropping his own trousers, standing there in just his boxers by the side of the bed. He reached out and pulled the last of Ian's clothing off of him before crawling onto the bed and up Ian's body, small, red bite-marks marking his path.

Ian was whimpering, the sounds beautiful and something he hadn't even realised he'd missed until he heard them. When their lips met it was crushing, something Ian instigated when Mickey tried to keep it moderate. The moderation had never been planned for his sake though, so he was in no way complaining.

He sucked on Ian's lip, reaching between their bodies to close his hand around Ian's cock. He ran his thumb over the head and smiled when the younger boy shivered. "Turn over," he muttered, his voice husky and rough and his mouth right by Ian's ear.

He could feel the redhead tense up underneath him, but he'd expected as much so he didn't let it phase him.

Carefully, like Ian was some sort of china doll or something, he turned Ian until he was on his hands and knees in front of him. And he had to admit, that Gallagher didn't actually look half bad from behind.

"I'd forgotten I liked your ass," he muttered and that was about as big a compliment as Mickey could ever do.

His own arousal was tenting his boxers, but he ignored it in favour of nipping on one of Ian's ass cheeks, pushing them apart slightly to swipe his tongue over the redhead's puckered opening. He pushed his tongue inside, flickered it over and ran it around, loosening Ian up until his body felt like putty under Mickey's hands. Mickey could feel him unwinding with every muffled moan into the flesh of his arm.

Mickey hated how much he wished that they were alone in the house so that he could hear Ian's moans. Mickey hated how much he loved the sounds Ian made, hated that it annoyed him that he'd never really heard them properly. They were always muffled, both of them.

The hate filled Mickey's head with an image of Ian in a bed, inside an apartment that nobody else lived in. He could hear the screams he'd coax from the redhead ringing in his ears, but instead of smiling, he grimaced because he knew that would never happen. Mickey didn't get that lucky. Mickey was never lucky and shit like that required luck.

 _Ian's lucky_.

He hated that his mind reminded him of things that he'd rather not think.

He reached around to stroke Ian's cock as he slowly slid a wet finger into his ass. He started with just the tip, but Ian was so fucking relaxed that he didn't even seem to notice that. So he pushed it all the way in, twisted it around, searching for that little spot that would make Ian scream.

Mickey did smile when Ian screamed, because nobody could see his face. He knew even though Ian had to bite down into his pillow to muffle the sound. Maybe he smiled because of that, he didn't know anymore.

He added fingers until Ian must have felt like he was going to burst. He scissored him open, placed a wet kiss over Ian's opening before turning him again, leaving him empty and pouting. Mickey laughed at that pout.

He draped Ian's legs over his thighs, crouched between them, his hand idly fondling Ian's cock.

Mickey had to pause because Ian was looking at him in that way. The way that contained more emotions than Mickey could ever hope to have a name for. More emotions than Mickey deserved and yet he relished that he had them anyway.

Ian whimpered as Mickey dragged him closer.

"Look at me," Mickey said softly, shifting Ian's legs up and sliding his hands under his ass, lifting him slightly.

Slowly, Ian's eyes opened and met Mickey's and Mickey waited until he saw the fear fade out of them. He bent forwards even though his body wasn't supposed to bend that way and it hurt. He bent anyway and pressed a kiss to Ian's mouth, chaste and simple, not anything he'd done before. And it worked like a charm.

He didn't insult Ian by asking him if he was ready, there wasn't anything else they could possibly do to make the redhead more ready. He pushed in slowly, swallowed Ian's gasp of pain in his mouth and smoothing his hands down Ian's ribcage to try and soothe away the shudders. "Relax," he muttered against his mouth, "Just relax and push out slightly."

He could feel Ian doing as he asked underneath him and Mickey pushed forwards again, until he was buried all the way in up to the hilt. He paused, feeling Ian wiggle and shift underneath him, which did absolutely nothing to held the height of his arousal, but he didn't move a muscle until he felt Ian's teeth nip at his neck.

Mickey took that as a sign to move.

He moved so slowly that it almost hurt him, feeling Ian's heels digging into the base of his spine, feeling the bite of Ian's fingernails in his shoulder blades and the weight of his kiss against his jaw. Mickey screwed his eyes tight shut, lost himself in the heat and the tightness of Ian's body. He couldn't explain why it felt like he was losing his heart all over again.

"Look at me," Ian muttered, pushing his hands through the sides of Ian's hair, his fingertips fluttering over Mickey's eyelids.

Mickey hated him for making him look, but he did, because he couldn't resist the pull of that voice, thick and raspy with need. He opened his eyes and stared down into Ian's face as he rolled his hips against the redhead's ass. Ian's arms wound up and around his neck, loosely, like he was afraid to trap Mickey this time and Mickey knew what he wanted. He obliged so willingly it scared him, ducking his head and kissing Ian, flicking his tongue into the heat of Ian's mouth with every thrust of his hips.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, locked and entwined, Ian's fingers in his hair and Mickey's hand behind the younger boy's head, holding just that part of him still as they kissed. Ian came with Mickey's name on his lips and when the ex-con found his own release his tears dropped like paint splatters against the gentle curve of Ian's neck.

Ian didn't know why he was crying and neither did Mickey if he was being honest. It made him fall even deeper towards his own doom concerning the boy underneath him when Ian didn't comment, when he did nothing but kiss Mickey's lips and fall back limp against the pillows.

Mickey rolled off but pulled Ian against him, hoping for some stupid gay moment that maybe the stickiness all over their chests and legs would fuse them together. Forever. Mickey would like that even if he didn't know the words that could admit that.

"What's in your blind spot now?" Ian asked randomly and Mickey couldn't help the laugh that stuttered out of him.

"If I knew that, it wouldn't be a fucking blind spot, now would it?" he pointed out, trailing his fingers down Ian's spine, pushing them against the knobs at the base of his spine.

He could feel Ian's frown against his chest, which was just weird.

"I didn't think of that," he muttered, chuckling and pressing a kiss against Mickey's nipple. He didn't know if that was intentional or just really lucky aiming. It just proved even more that Ian was lucky, maybe he could be lucky enough for the both of them.

He was Irish after all, they had lucky shit connected to them.

"Are you ashamed at it?" Ian asked, living up to his reputation in Mickey's mind of being the king of stupid questions.

Mickey sighed, because if he didn't, he was going to groan. "Why would I be ashamed of something that I can't see?" he asked, trying to be funny, but knowing that Ian saw straight through it. Like he seemed to do all of Mickey's remarks.

"Everybody's battle scarred," Ian said, speaking like he knew anything of battle.

But maybe did.

Mickey rolled his eyes and rolled them again so that he was on top and he crouched over Ian so that he could stare down into his face when he asked, "Are you ashamed of yours?" And Ian didn't even have to ask, Mickey could see the answer in his eyes.

He could feel Ian's fingers fluttering over the bullet wound on his thigh as he leant in close to flick his tongue over the barely there scar underneath Ian's eye. "Shame," he muttered, "Because I kind of like them."

"Don't be stupid," Ian muttered, cringing away slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Don't you doubt me," he returned, "I'm not lying."

He wouldn't lie about that.

Mickey inched his way out of Ian's arms and he could see the panic in the redhead's eyes because he thought Mickey was mad at him, he thought he was leaving. He resisted the urge to try and punch some sense into him, because he really was the one who was being stupid here.

He knelt in between Ian's legs and slowly lifted one of them, setting it on his shoulder. Ian's panicked expression turned into a frown as he tried to work out what the hell Mickey was doing. He shifted slightly and licked a circle around the scar on Ian's knee, following it. "You look less like a fucking kid now," he said, biting lightly on the inside of Ian's leg, "I like them."

And he honestly did. He didn't know why.

He licked his way up the inside of Ian's thigh and then breathed his way back down. "Fuck Mick, stop it, that tickles," Ian said, squirming and grabbing for Mickey's head. Mickey jerked just out of his reach and laughed, because he knew it tickled.

He didn't like seeing the frown on Ian's face, he preferred the smile and Mickey was a do it yourself sort of guy, so if he didn't see one, he'd just made one. As he turned his head again towards Ian's leg and bent slightly to reach his thigh, he saw Fiona standing there in the doorway, her eyes wide as she tried to work out exactly what she was seeing. He bit down hard on the inside of Ian's thigh and laughed when Ian almost shot off the bed. "Fuck Mick," he looked up at Mickey through heavily-lidded eyes, "What are you trying to do, make another one?"

He smirked, "Maybe."

Certainly he wouldn't be opposed to that idea.

"You know it's kind of pervy you just standing there," he said as he crawled back up the bed to lie beside Ian on his front, and he sort of liked that way that the redhead draped his thigh across his ass when he spotted his sister, like he was possessive of it or something. He pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth to stop his smile.

Her mouth opened and closed for a second and then she just shook her head and backed out of the room. Mickey would have paid good money to know what the hell she was thinking at that moment.

"Is it creepy that that right there kind of made me hard again?" Mickey asked, risking a glance sideways at Ian, pushing a hand through his hair, knowing it was already sticking up at ridiculous angles. Like it always did after sex.

"Give me a minute," Ian muttered, a smirk on his face even though his eyes were closed.

Mickey laughed and licked a line under Ian's jaw just because. "Try this then," he said, leaning across to snag the joint and his lighter off the bedside table. He lit it up while lying on top of Ian's body, for reasons he couldn't really explain. Maybe it was because he felt oddly fucking possessive at the moment, like he'd had coke or something. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke into Ian's open mouth.

His eyes shot open and he coughed, but it was with a smile on his face.

Barely five minutes later Ian was on top of Mickey, Mickey's legs over his shoulders and Ian's cock so deep inside of his ass he swore he could taste him in the back of his throat. Neither of them lasted very long, but that was what you got when Ian finally let go and condemned Mickey to a glorious vicious pounding.

Mickey's teeth in his arm made them topple over the edge together and Mickey hated how gay it was that he loved the thought of that happening. He hated that he wanted to make it happen every time.

"I can't say it," he muttered afterwards, his breath tickling across Ian's skin as he looked up so that their eyes could meet, "You know it already, isn't that enough? Don't make me say it." He was practically begging and he hated that, hated that Ian could reduce him to someone he hardly even recognised.

A smile pulled up the corners of Ian's mouth and it was quite probably the most adorable thing that Mickey had ever seen. He found that he could actually think that now without it pissing him off massively.

"Well then try this," he said, leaning closer so that their mouths were only millimetres apart. Mickey could taste Ian's breath on his tongue and it tasted of weed, smoke, BBQ chips and something that was just quite simply  _Ian_. Mickey thought it was the best thing he'd ever tasted and he wanted to shoot himself in the head for thinking that, but he didn't, because then he wouldn't have been able to taste it anymore.

"I hate you, Mickey," Ian whispered right before their lips met and it wasn't anything like how they'd kissed before. It was just like it had been in that hospital bathroom. It was sweeter, softer, no biting, no pain, hardly even much tongue. And Mickey could feel his eyes sliding closed as his hands pressed Ian gently against his own body. He sighed into Ian's mouth and could feel the younger boy smile in response.

They pulled apart far too soon and Ian tucked his head back underneath the ex-con's chin and Mickey knew that he was listening to his heartbeat. He tightened his arms in response, holding him as close as was possible without squeezing the life out of him.

"I fucking hate you too, Firecrotch," he muttered back when he was able to actually find his voice again. His thoughts were all jumbled up in his head, even worse than when Ian touched him, when they were fucking and Mickey didn't understand that.

He could feel Ian smile against his flesh and knew that the redhead could feel Mickey's heart pounding against his ribs in response. They lay there like that for a long time, until neither one of them even knew if the other was awake. And Mickey hated himself for thinking it, for being so sappy, but he actually thought he might have preferred it to fucking. Maybe, just a little bit and only if Ian didn't do that thing with his hips that drove Mickey crazy.

"Mick?"

"You're ruining the moment again, Firecrotch," he replied, not even opening his eyes.

"Yeah sorry, but I just thought you should know something."

Mickey sighed. He probably needed to pee or something fucking stupid like that. "What, what do you think I need to know that's worth interrupting that silence we had going on there?"

Ian chuckled softly, as usual, not having the proper reaction to Mickey's words, "Well I was just wondering if you realised that my dick's still up your ass." And he said that so lightly, so matter-of-factly, like it was the easiest thing in the world to say, the most natural thing to say, that Mickey couldn't stop himself from smiling.

"I didn't know that actually," he admitted. He was too fucking relaxed, it was the weed.

Ian's fingers traced over his chest, the patterns he drew making Mickey shiver slightly, "I'm going to keep it there, okay?"

Mickey ran his fingers down Ian's spine, knowing where every freckle was without even needing to look. He had Ian's body completely mapped out in his head and he was actually pretty proud of that fact.

"You know it has to come out some fucking time, right?"

Ian shrugged, which felt weird given how he was completely splayed across Mickey's chest. "Yeah," he admitted, almost begrudgingly, like he wished that wasn't the truth, "It'd live up there if it could though."

That stupid sappy, fag part of him that Ian managed to draw out sometimes – not that he knew that though – wanted to tell Ian that he wanted to lie like this, to be this close to each other forever. He wanted to tell him that he couldn't imagine ever letting anybody else this close, ever having anybody else's dick up his ass. He wanted to say that he was never going anywhere, because just the thought of it made him die a little inside. He wanted to tell Ian that he loved him more than he had ever loved anything else in the world. He wanted to say all of those things to Ian and more, but of course he didn't, instead he just screwed his eyes tight shut, like his secrets were threatening to spill out from under his eyelids and in the most relaxed voice he could feign replied, "Yeah, I bet it would."

He knew that Ian really heard,  _I love you_.


	34. Chapter 34

When his dad asked why the fuck he was moving into an apartment with another bloke, his response had sounded completely natural like something he would say, "Cause it's fucking cheaper and I'm sick of having a room that's the way to the fucking bathroom." His dad hadn't even blinked, hadn't considering Mickey to be lying, and neither had his brothers.

The apartment was cheap and crappy and Mickey knew the heat would be unbearable in the summer and the cold painful in the winter, but he didn't care. The feel of Ian's teeth on his neck clung there for a long time after the lips had been withdrawn and the image of his smile would probably stay in Mickey's brain forever.

It had been five years since Mickey had walked into that hospital to see him there and there were still traces of pain in Ian's eyes sometimes, but otherwise he was almost complete again. The scars had faded like they always did, but whenever the sadness crept into Ian's eyes, Mickey would trace them with his tongue and mark Ian again with his teeth, just to remind him.

Although quite what he reminded him Mickey didn't know.

Mickey still worked at the hospital and he'd even tried his hand at sucking up to the boss to land Ian a job as well. He would admit though that Lizzie's input probably helped. Mickey and Ian spent their days cleaning up after people in the hospital and fucking or getting high in the storeroom during their breaks. And their nights were spent locked away in a place where Ian could scream and nobody would think twice about it.

The handprint bruises on Mickey's hips were probably permanent now, practically tattooed, just like Ian's name on his heart, but Mickey had added a bite mark on Ian's shoulder to the younger boy's collection of scars.

They hardly ever fucked without facing anymore. That position was reserved for angry sex, make up sex and thank you sex. Like when Ian had opened a newspaper Lip had dropped off to see an article about the O'Connor brothers found dead in their cells, their throats cut. Ian hadn't said a word, because he knew that Mickey was responsible for that. He'd fucked Mickey so hard that night that he hadn't quite been able to walk properly the next day.

It was almost enough to tempt Mickey into killing people Ian didn't like more often.

Mickey still wouldn't admit it, would never admit it, but he couldn't think of anything better than lying in a bed in a crappy apartment on a shitty mattress next to Gallagher. He was like some sort of retarded monkey, or maybe a Boa Constrictor given the way he wrapped himself around Mickey. He liked to sleep with his face in Mickey's neck, which was good considering the ex-con liked to sleep with his face in Ian's hair.

"Mickey, marry me," Ian said, his chin resting on the older man's chest – because they were men now, not boys – and his eyes so wide that Mickey felt like he was drowning in them.

He smirked and wrapped his arms around the redhead, knitting his fingers together and holding Ian in place. "No," he said and Ian didn't even flinch. Because Ian did this every night, without fail and Mickey always said no.

Ian had been asking ever since he'd turned eighteen and he kept doing it because he knew Mickey liked the fact he kept asking even if he always got the same answer. And maybe Ian kept asking also, because like Mickey he knew that one day he would say yes.

When that day came, he was going to laugh his fucking head off at the expression on Ian's face.

The day Mickey finally did say yes though, it didn't quite go as he'd anticipated. Mickey had thought surprise, then happiness, but it didn't go like that. The surprise had been there for all of half a second before Ian had said, "Actually, I change my mind."

So Mickey had pinned him down until he begged, until he asked again and until they were both in hysterics that it was like they were teenagers again. But they weren't, not anymore and Mickey had decided that maybe he was getting too old to keep saying no. He was only thirty eight, but Mickey had strong suspicions he was going to die of liver failure – just like Frank and his own dear old Dad – before the time he hit fifty.

"But just to warn you, you even think about turning it faggy," Mickey threatened, glaring down at the redhead pinned underneath him, "I will cut your fucking tongue out."

Mickey still didn't know quite how to phrase things nicely.

But Ian just snorted and flipped Mickey off of his chest, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You're miss it too much if you cut it out," he said, trailing it down Mickey's torso to swirl it around his belly button.

"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher," Mickey said, his insults still his way of saying ' _I love you_ '. They probably always would be. Just like Ian would always be his, it said so on Ian's heart, or maybe just over it. Because Ian was the one of them that was gay enough to actually get a tattoo like this.

Mickey would stick with 'FUCK U-UP' as far as tattoos were concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well what do you know? I did upload it all in one go! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm starting to think it's a miracle I got into university, sixteen year old me had way too much free time on her hands!

**Author's Note:**

> Come play in my sandpit. I'll even share my toys with you!  
> [themintsauce](http://themintsauce.tumblr.com)  
> @BethCottrell


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